MADELEINE: 


A    TALE     OF    AUVERGNE, 


FOUNDED    ON    FACT. 


BY    JULIA    KAVANAGH. 

ACTHOE  OF  "NATHALIE,"    ""WOMEN  OF  EARLY  CHRISTIANITY,"  ETO. 


"For  verily  I  say  nnto  you,  if  ye  have  faith  as  a  grain  of  mustard-seed,  ye  shsl 
eay  unto  this  mountain,  P.emove  henco  to  yonder  place,  and  it  shall  remov. 
and  noihing  iliaU  he  impossible  tinio  yoit."— Matt.  xviL  20. 


NEW  YORK: 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY, 

549    &    551    BROADWAY. 
1873. 


?R 


'WW 

MADELEINE. 


Kn 


CHAPTER  I. 

In  one  of  the  wildest  districts  of  Auvergne  there 
exists  a  narrow  and  secluded  valley,  which  seems 
shut  out  on  every  side  from  the  surrounding  world 
by  a  barrier  of  high  and  rugged  hills.  On  one  of 
the  southern  eminences  arises  a  small  village  called 
Mont-Saint-Jean,  a  name  which  in  the  course  of  time 
has  been  extended  to  the  whole  valley.  ITotwith- 
standing  the  wild  and  solitary  loveliness  of  this  quiet 
spot,  its  existence  is  scarcel}^  known  beyond  the 
mountainous  region  in  which  it  lies  buried,  and  the 
travelling  artist  passes  it  by,  miconscious  of  the  un- 
explored beauties  he  is  leaving  behind  him. 

The  village  itself  is  small  and  of  little  importance. 
Its  low,  straggling  cottages  climb  up  the  brow  of  the 
Mont-Saint-Jean  ;  on  a  high,  projecting  peak  stands 
the  rude  and  massive  little  church  ;  and  near  it 
nestles,  as  though  seeking  its  shelter,  a  low  and  still 
ruder  building,  known  by  the  dignified  name  of  the 
"  Presbytery."  In  front  of  the  church  there  extends 
an  open,  uneven  space,  called  the  "Place,"  in  the 
centre  of  which  arises,  according  to  the  general  cus- 
tom, a  large  stone  cross.  From  the  steps  of  this  crosa 
the  eye  of  the  beholder  commands  a  view  of  the 
valley,  and  of  a  considerable  portion  of  the  surround- 
ing country. 


MADELEINE. 


Wild  and  picturesque  mountains,  some  entirely 
clothed  with  the  dark  pine,  others  of  a  deep  purple 
liue,  and  some  again  covered  with  snow,  arise  on 
every  side;  the  shadowy  outline  of  the  farthest  hills 
mingling  in  the  distance  with  the  deep  blue  of  the 
sky.  Between  those  mountains  and  the  Mont-Saint- 
Jean  extend  numerous  valleys,  with  solitary  dwellings 
gleaming  through  woods  of  fir  and  mountain  ash, 
and  rushing  torrents,  vv'hich  come  foamingly  down 
from  their  wild  hiding-places  in  the  hills. 

The  deep  and  narrow  valley  of  Mont-Saint-Jean  ia 
not  without  its  own  share  of  wild  and  romantic  beauty. 
The  rocky  heights  which  inclose  it,  though   barren 
towards  their  summits,  become  everywhere  clothed 
with  rich,  deep  verdure  at  their  base,  until  the  calm 
and  lovely  little  lake,  which  sleeps  in  the  lowest  hol- 
low, looks  from  the  village  on  the  hill  like  the  last 
clear  drop  of  water  left  in  the  bottom  of  an  emerald 
cup.    The  beauty  of  the  whole  scene  is  greatly  en- 
hanced by  its  deep  solitude.    No  human  dwelling 
is  to  be  seen  in  all  the  valley ;  and,  though  a  few 
narrow  defiles  in  the  hills  lead  from  it  to  the  neigh- 
boring villages,  they  are  so  concealed  by  the  thick 
vegetation  through  which  they  wind  as  to  be  almost 
invisible.     The    village    of   Mont-Saint-Jean    itself 
scarcely  breaks  on  the  solitude  of  this  quiet  spot, 
whence,  with   the   exception  of  the  church  on   its 
projecting   rock,   it   is    but   imperfectly  perceived. 
Tliough  fertile-looking,  the  valley  is  in  reality  inap- 
propriate to  agricultural  purposes,  and  for  this  reason, 
doubtless,  none  of  the  cottagers,  whose  dwellings  are 
scattered  on  the  neighboring  heights,  have  chosen  to 
fix  their  home  on  its  green  bosom. 


MADELEINE. 


The  character  of  the  inhabitants  of  this  secluded 
region  is  such  as  might  be  expected  from  the  spot  in 
which  their  life  is  s]5ent.  They  are  a  hardy,  half- 
wild  race;  poor,  but  satisfied  with  their  lot.  Their 
Darren  hills  they  look  upon  as  an  earthly  paradise, 
and  their  world  literally  ends  with  Mont-Saint- Jean. 
Their  subsistence  is  chiefly  derived  by  cultivating 
the  indifferent  land  around  them ;  some  so  in  their 
youth  to  Paris,  or  other  large  cities,  where  they  be- 
come fruiterers,  retail  dealers  of  coal,  water-carriers, 
&c. ;  but,  so  strong  is  the  love  of  their  native  soil, 
that  when  they  have  amassed  a  sufficient  sum  of 
money  they  invariably  return  to  the  place  of  their 
birth,  there  to  end  their  days  in  peace. 

Towards  the  beginning  of  the  present  century,  and 
during  the  first  years  of  N^apoleon's  reign,  the  period 
when  this  tale  opens,  the  condition  of  the  villagers  of 
Mont-Saint- Jean  was  far  more  precarious  than  it  is 
now,  unenviable  as  it  may  still  aj^pear.  They  were 
plunged  in  gross  ignorance,  superstition,  and  poverty ; 
and,  owing  to  their  hereditary  and  national  obstinacy, 
did  not  seem  likely  to  emerge  from  this  deplorable 
state.  Save  that  they  had  no  rich  landlord  to  tyran- 
nize over  them,  their  condition  had  not  been  much 
improved  since  the  middle  ages.  The  great  convul- 
sions which,  had  racked  the  heart  of  France  since 
then,  appeared  to  have  passed  unheard  of  in  quiet 
Mont-Saint-Jean,  or  at  least  to  have  left  no  token  of 
their  presence.  The  cottagers  knew  that  something 
had  been  changed  in  the  land,  but  they  cared  not 
what  it  was ;  and  thus,  indifferent  to  the  surrounding 
world,  their  life  might  have  been  compared  to  the 
lake  in  the  valley,  as  it  lay  alone  in  quiet,  unpretend- 


MADELEINE. 


iug  beauty,  reflecting  in  its  clear  waters  the  surronnd- 
ing  hills,  with  their  woods  of  pines,  and,  still  spreading 
above  all,  the  deep  blue  summer-sky. 

It  was  on  the  margin  of  this  limpid  little  sheet  of 
water  that  two  peasants,  a  man  and  a  woman,  might 
have  been  seen  standing  on  a  lovely  Sunday  evening 
in  the  autumn  of  the  year  18 — .  The  hour  was  full  of 
melancholy  rei30se.  The  deep,  cool  shadows  of  even- 
ing had  already  filled  the  valley,  whilst  the  rays  of 
the  setting  sun  still  lingered  with  a  pale  golden  hue 
on  the  rocky  heights.  The  growing  twilight  gave  to 
this  narrow  spot  vague  and  indefinite  limits  which  it 
did  not  possess  in  the  day-time,  when  the  glad  sun- 
shine was  abroad,  lighting  up  every  nook  and  crevice. 
The  trees,  which  grew  in  fantastic  groups  along  the 
margin  of  the  lake,  now  looked  in  the  gathering 
gloom  like  the  outskirts  of  mysterious  forests  j^lung- 
iug  amongst  wild  passes  in  the  hills.  The  shadows 
on  the  bosom  of  the  lake  had  already  become  more 
vast  and  indistinct,  and  the  faint  cry  of  the  distant 
water-fowl,  as  it  broke  on  the  surrounding  stillness, 
seemed  to  increase  instead  of  dispelling  the  repose  of 
that  evening  hour. 

It  was,  perha23s,  the  sense  of  this  deep  solitude  of 
nature  which  unconsciously  influenced  the  two  indi- 
viduals already  alluded  to,  and  rendered  them  both 
thoughtful  and  silent.  The  man  seemed  to  be  about 
twenty-five  years  of  age  ;  he  was  tall,  handsome, 
and  his  peasant's  dress  became  him  well.  The  nat- 
ural expression  of  his  features  was  evidently  mirth 
and  good  humor,  but  on  this  day  they  were  clouded 
and  overcast,  as  though  by  the  shadow  of  some  secret 
thought,     riis  name  was  Maurice,  and  lie  was  a  na 


MADELEINE. 


tive  of  Mont-Saint-Jean.  He  bad  lost  his  parents  in 
childhood,  and  possessed  no  surviving  relatives,  bui 
he  lived  with  a  farmer  in  one  of  the  neighboring  val- 
leys as  gar^on  de  ferme,  or  farmer's  boy.  His  com- 
panion was  Madeleine  Giierin,  his  betrothed,  with 
whom  he  had  been  attending  vespers  in  the  church 
of  Mont-Saint-Jean,  and  whom  he  was  now  accom- 
panying home.  "We  have  said  that  they  were  both 
standing  by  the  lake ;  but  the  young  girl,  either 
through  fatigue,  or  to  enjoy  the  coolness  of  the  even- 
ing, had  seated  herself  on  a  small  ledge  of  rock, 
whence  she  gazed  abstractedly  on  the  dim  recesses 
of  the  hills,  around  which  already  floated  the  light 
mists  rising  from  the  water. 

Madeleine  was  a  few  years  younger  than  her  be- 
trothed ;  she  was  delicate  and  slightly  made ;  her 
features  had  no  pretension  to  beauty ;  they  did  not 
even  possess  that  rustic  grace  and  prettiness  which 
often  characterizes  the  peasant  girl  ;  her  cheek, 
though  clear  and  healthful,  was  almost  colorless  ; 
her  noble  chiselled  brow  and  eyes  of  a  deep  azure 
blue  were  the  only  attractions  of  her  meek  counte- 
nance ;  her  hair,  of  a  dark,  rich  brown,  was  almost 
completely  hidden  under  her  close  white  cap,  and  a 
coarse  gray  mantle  entirely  shrouded  her  figure. 
Upon  the  whole,  the  expression  of  Madeleine's  fea- 
tures was  mild  and  grave,  and,  though  some  thought 
it  sorrowful,  to  keener  and  more  correct  observers  it 
told  of  a  calm  as  deep  and  serene  as  that  of  the  lake 
tit  her  feet ;  like  it  reflecting  earthly  images,  but  liv- 
ing beyond  them  in  a  world  of  its  own.  Madeleine 
had  been  sitting  for  some  time  on  the  ledge  of  the 
rock,  when  she  turned  away  her  glance  from  the  dis- 


MADELEINE. 


tant  hills  on  which  it  had  been  resting  till  then,  and 
fixed  it  on  the  unconscious  Maurice,  who,  with  his 
arms  folded  across  his  bi*east,  seemed  plunged  in  a 
dark  and  moody  revery. 

"  Mamice,"  said  she,  in  a  low  yet  singularly  mu- 
sical tone,  and  addressing  her  betrothed  in  the  dia- 
lect of  the  country,  "  why  are  you  thoughtful  this 
evening  ?" 

On  hearing  her  words,  Maurice  started  and  looked 
up.  "Am  I  more  thoughtful  this  evening  than  at 
any  other  time  ?"  he  evasively  answered. 

"  l!To,"  she  calmly  replied,  "  for  you  have  been 
sad  and  given  to  moody  thought  since  the  month  of 
June." 

Maurice  eyed  his  betrothed  with  some  surprise. 
"Madeleine,"  he  observed,  after  a  short  pause,  "ex- 
plain yourself." 

"  I  will,"  she  gravely  replied  :  "  it  was  in  the 
month  of  June,  at  the  feast  of  Saint  John,  that  you 
first  met  Hosette  Besson." 

Maurice  colored  deeply,  and  said  in  a  displeased 
tone,  "  I  understand  ;  you  are  jealous.  I  thought 
we  had  agreed  that  there  should  be  confidence  be- 
tween us." 

"  It  is  because  there  must  be  truth  and  confidence 
between  us  that  I  speak  as  I  do  now,"  answered  Ma- 
deleine, with  the  same  calmness,  "  and  that  I  say 
again.  You  are  sad  since  the  feast  of  Saint  John,  be- 
cause  it  was  then  you  saw  Eosette  Besson,  whom  you 
.ove." 

"  Madeleine,"  almost  harshly  exclaimed  Maurice, 
"  you  are  a  foolish  girl ;  you  know  not  what  you 
eay." 


JIADELEINE.  9 


Mjicleleine  sorrowfully  shook  her  head,  but  re- 
plied :  "  You  cannot  deceive  me,  Maurice ;  seek 
not  to  deceive  yourself.  Do  you  remember,"  she 
added,  in  a  low  mournful  tone,  "  my  father's  death- 
bed?" 

"  Yes,  I  remember  it,"  gloomily  answered  Maurice. 

"  And  I  see  it,"  continued  Madeleine,  with  a  fixed 
glance,  whilst  a  faint  flush  crossed  her  cheek.  "  My 
poor  father  was  already  speechless,  but  he  signed  us 
to  draw  near  him ;  he  took  my  hand,  placed  it  in 
yours,  and,  gazing  on  us  with  our  two  hands  clasped 
in  his,  so  he  died." 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  Madeleine,"  exclaimed  Mau- 
rice, with  feverish  impatience,  "  teaze  me  not  with 
all  this ;  you  know  that,  with  God's  will,  we  are  to 
be  married  next  spring." 

A  mild  surprise  betrayed  itself  in  Madeleine's  up- 
raised glance.  "What!"  said  she,  with  a  melan- 
choly snjile ;  "  did  you  not  understand  me,  Maurice  ? 
did  you  not  see  that  when  I  said  you  loved  Eosette 
Besson  I  meant  to  tell  you  you  were  free,  and  that 
my  poor  father — the  j^eace  of  heaven  be  with  his 
soul ! — would  never  have  joined  our  hands  had  he 
known  that  our  hearts  were  asunder  ?" 

"  Madeleine,"  exclaimed  Maurice,  who  seemed 
much  staggered,  "  you  cannot  be  in  earnest." 

"  I  have  told  you  so  already,"  she  calmly  replied  ; 
"  you  are  free  ;  we  are  no  longer  betrothed." 

"But  I  do  not  love  Eosette,  Madeleine.  How 
could  I,  since  I  never  saw  her  but  once  in  all  my 
life  ?" 

"  Ay,  we  have  known  each  other  for  years,"  sadly 
answered  Madeleine,  "  and  you  have  known  Eosette 

1* 


10  MADELEINE. 


only  for  one  fair  summer's  day;  and  yet  you  love 
her !  Yon  love  me,  too ;  but  you  would  leave  me 
forever,  and  never  gaze* on  me  again,  merely  to  look 
upon  her!  How  strange,  Maurice,  that  the  love 
which  comes  so  suddenly  should  be  deeper  than  that 
of  many  years !" 

The  eyes  of  Maurice  filled  with  tears.  "  My  own, 
good  Madeleine,"  he  fervently  exclaimed,  "  I  will 
never  forsake  you," 

"  Oh,  I  did  not  intend  reproaching  you,  Maurice," 
gravely  said  Madeleine  ;  "  the  fault  is  not  yours  ;  I 
merely  meant  to  say  that  it  was  strange  it  should  be 
so.  But,  as  you  love  God  and  truth,"  she  earnestly 
continued,  "  lie  no  more  to  your  own  heart,  for  you 
cannot  lie  to  me  ;  I  have  read  it  in  your  every  word 
and  glance.  You  love  Kosette ;  she  is  good  and  fair, 
and  I  have  prayed  that  she  might  love  you  too  ;  but, 
even  were  this  not  to  be,  we  are  parted  forever." 

Maurice  eyed  the  young  girl  with  surprise^  he  had 
ever  looked  upon  Madeleine  as  the  most  gentle  and 
passive  of  human  beings  ;  as  one  to  whom  the  word 
will  was  unknown;  and  he  now  heard  her  with 
astonishment  ntter  her  resolve  in  a  tone  so  decided, 
and  yet  so  gentle  and  so  meek,  that  it  only  rendered 
her  firmness  the  more  apparent. 

"  But  if  I  forsake  you,"  said  he,  "  you  will  die  with 
grief,  like  poor  Catherine,  when  her  lover  went  away 
last  year." 

"  No,"  replied  Madeleine,  with  earnest  simplicity, 
"  do  not  think  so.  I  have  sorrowed,  but  my  sorrow 
is  past ;  and  if  you  are  happy  with  her  whom  you 
love,  I  shall  be  happy  too." 

Maurice  looked  at  her  doubtfully,  as  though  ho 


MADELEINE.  11 


mistrusted  her  words ;  but  her  clear,  open  counte- 
nance bore  liis  scrutinizing  gaze  without  shrinking. 
A  cloud  passed  over  the  young  man's  brow.  Ilis 
pride  was  hurt,  and  he  bitterly  observed :  "  Made- 
leine, I  now  see  that  you  never  loved  me ;  we  part 
not  thus  from  those  we  love." 

"  Whether  I  loved  you  or  not,  God  alone  knows," 
gravely  answered  Madeleine,  slightly  coloring;  "my 
father  joined  our  hands ;  and,  had  I  become  your 
v/ife,  I  should  have  done  my  duty  w^illingly,  and  with 
a  cheerful  heart.  Further  than  this  I  cannot  tell; 
for  I  have  not  loved  another,  to  be  able  to  say— that 
is  love,  but  this  is  not." 

"  Oh !"  continued  Maurice,  with  increased  irrita- 
tion, "  I  am  glad  to  see  you  bear  our  parting  so  well* 
it  shows  what  you  felt  for  me  all  along." 

Madeleine  now  colored  deeply,  and  rose.  "  And 
what  right,"  said  she,  in  a  tone  of  oftended  womanly 
pride,  "  have  you  to  know  whether  my  heart  is  sor- 
rowful or  at  peace  ?  Is  it,"  she  added  with  melan- 
choly bitterness,  "  that  you  may  tell  Rosette  Besson 
how  well  you  were  beloved  by  the  poor  Madeleine, 
who  is  not  fair  like  her,  and  whom  you  left  for  her 
sake? — Say,  Maurice,"  she  reproachfully  continued, 
« is  it  for  this?" 

"  Forgive  me,  Madeleine,  forgive  me,"  ejaculated 
the  young  man  in  a  penitent  tone ;  "  you  are  right,  I 
love  Kosette ;  but  to  see  you  so  cold,  so  altered — I 
cannot  bear  it." 

"  I  am  not  cold,  Maurice,"  kindly  said  Madeleine, 
'•  I  love  you,  and  you  love  me  still ;  grieve  not,  there- 
fore, that  we  part ;  I  shall  be  lonely  at  first,  but  I 
shall  feel  happy  again  when  I  know  that  Rosette  Bes- 


12  MADELEINE. 


son  loves  you ;  and  indeed  she  almost  said  she 
did." 

"Ha!  Avhat  was  it?  what  did  she  saj?"  eagerly 
asked  Maurice. 

Madeleine  smiled  sadly,  but  gently  replied :  "  She 
said  to  me  on  the  feast  of  Saint  John,  after  dancing 
with  you,  that  you  doubtless  had  the  prettiest  girl  of 
Mont-Saint-Jean  for  your  sweetheart;  and  when  1 
answered  that  I  was  your  betrothed,  she  became 
thoughtful  and  spoke  no  more.  Since  then  she  has 
seemed  to  avoid  me;  and,  whenever  I  address  her, 
coldly  turns  away.  Upon  perceiving  which,  and 
marking  your  altered  behavior,  I  saw  clearly  that 
God  had  destined  you  for  another,  and  I  resolved  not 
to  oppose  His  holy  will." 

"  And  is  this  all  ?"  almost  imj^atiently  asked 
Maurice,  whose  ear  greedily  drank  in  every  word 
she  uttered. 

"  It  is  all,"  she  meekly  said. 

Maurice  remained  thoughtful  for  a  while ;  then, 
seeing  that  Madeleine  was  standing  as  though  she 
waited  for  him  to  accompany  her,  he  took  her  arm, 
and  they  silently  walked  homewards,  following  the 
margin  of  the  lake.  They  had  not  proceeded  far, 
when  Maurice  began  to  speak  ;  his  heart  was  full  of 
Rosette,  and,  though  he  endeavored  to  check  him- 
self, her  name  often  rose  to  his  lips.  Madeleine  saw 
that  if  he  refrained  from  speaking  of  her  whom  he 
loved  it  was  merely  that  lie  might  not  give  her  pain; 
and  a  deep  though  involuntary  sadness  filled  her 
heart  as  she  felt  bow  lonely  now  was  her  lot  upon 
earth. 

After  walking  for  some  time  along  the  lake  they 


MADELEINE.  13 


took  a  silent  and  shady  path  which  led  to  Made- 
leine's dwelling,  and  also  to  the  burial  place  of  Mont- 
Saint-Jean,  near  which  it  stood.  On  either  side  of 
the  narrow  and  winding  way  arose  a  high  bank  sur- 
mounted with  trees,  whose  waving  branches  met  over 
head,  and  even  in  mid-day  shed  a  kind  of  hallowed 
gloom  around.  As  Maurice  and  Madeleine  went 
along,  the  evening  breeze  played  gently  among  the 
tall  poplars  and  aspens  which  rose  above  them,  whilst 
the  withered  leaves  rustled  beneath  their  tread.  Ac- 
customed as  Maurice  was  to  the  subduing  melancholy 
of  the  place,  it  now  seemed  to  come  over  him  more 
strongly  than  ever,  hushing  even  in  his  heart  the 
dreams  of  love  and  happiness  in  which  he  had  been 
indulging.  "When  they  had  followed  this  path  for 
some  time,  they  came  to  a  low,  black  door,  over 
which  arose  a  wooden  cross.  This  was  the  gate  of 
the  cemetery.  The  path  extended  beyond  it,  winding 
around  the  low  walls  of  this  place  of  rest ;  but  Made- 
leine and  Maurice  both  seemed  to  pause  instinctively, 
and  went  no  fm-ther. 

"  "Will  you  go  in  ?"  asked  Maurice,  as  he  glanced 
somewhat  hesitatingly  at  the  gathering  gloom  of  the 
sky. 

"Yes,"  she  thoughtfully  replied,  "let  us  once  more 
pray  over  his  grave  together." 

Maurice  pushed  the  gate  open,  and  they  entered. 
There  was  nothing  remarkable  about  the  burial 
ground  of  Mont-Saint-Jean,  and  yet  it  was  a  wild 
and  lovely  spot.  It  extended  over  a  grassy  slope, 
and  was  overshadowed  by  a  few  tall  pines,  which 
grew  on  its  highest  eminence,  and  flung  their  broad, 
waving   arms   to   the  wind.     The   low,  ruined  wall 


14  MADELEINE. 

which  inclosed  it  was  overgrown  with  ivy  and  othei 
creeping  plants ;  all  the  graves  w-ere  marked  by 
wooden  crosses  inscribed  with  the  name  of  the 
deceased ;  there  was  not  a  single  tomb-stone  in  the 
whole  spot,  which  seemed  filled  with  the  Sabbath- 
stillness  of  everlasting  rest.  'No  human  dwelling  was 
visible  from  this  retired  place;  it  lay  as  though  en- 
shrined in  the  quiet  bosom  of  the  surrounding  hills, 
%r  from  the  eye  of  man,  or  from  aught  else  that 
might  break  on  its  deep  repose  and  solitude.  It  was 
quite  solitary  when  Madeleine  and  Maurice  entered 
it ;  all  the  mourners  had  departed  with  the  shadows 
of  evening  which  now  filled  the  lower  hollows,  though 
the  rays  of  the  setting  sun  still  lingered  among  the 
waving  branches  of  the  pines  which  crowned  the 
height. 

Madeleine  took  a  narrow  path  which  wound  among 
the  lowly  hillocks  and  fallen  crosses  that  marked  the 
more  ancient  graves,  and,  after  following  it  for  some 
time,  paused  on  reaching  a  mound  of  earth  half  con- 
cealed by  thickets  of  the  wild  hollyhock.  She  knelt 
down  near  the  cross  which  marked  the  head  of  the 
grave,  and  her  example  was  followed  by  Maurice, 
whose  heart  was  troubled  with  a  remorseful  feeling 
as  he  thought  of  the  trust  which  his  adopted  father 
had  reposed  in  him  on  his  death-bed,  and  of  the  man- 
ner in  which  he  was  requiting  it  now.  After  a  few 
minutes  spent  in  prayer,  Madeleine  rose  and  slowly 
left  the  burial-ground,  followed  by  Maurice.  They 
Bilently  resumed  the  path,  which,  by  a  sudden  turn- 
ing, led  them  to  Madeleine's  dwelling,  a  rustic  cot, 
backed  by  the  same  sloping  bank  over  w^hich  the  cem- 
etery extended,  though  the  trees  by  which  it  was 


MADELEINE.  15 


partly  surrounded  prevented  it  from  being  discerned. 
It  was  in  this  lonely  place  that  Madeleine  had  been 
brought  up,  and  that  she  had  resided  since  her  father's 
death.  When  she  raised  the  latch  of  the  door,  which 
had  never  known  lock  or  key,  Maurice  paused. 

"  Farewell,  Madeleine,"  he  hesitatingly  observed  ; 
"  we  shall  soon  meet  again." 

"  Nay,"  replied  Madeleine,  in  a  low  and  earnest 
tone,  "  this  cannot  be  ;  here  we  part — not  forever  I 
trust — but  never  to  meet  as  we  have  met.  Take  it 
not  unkindly  that  I  say  to  you.  Come  no  more.  But 
my  spirit  is  now  at  rest ;  it  is  quiet,  though  alone.  I 
will  not  tempt  Heaven  by  seeking  for  pain.  I  shall 
pray  for  you  and  for  her,  though  I  see  you  not.  Fare- 
well." 

Maurice  attempted  to  speak,  but  he  could  not :  his 
voice  faltered,  and  the  words  died  unuttered  on  his 
lips.  He  took  Madeleine's  hand  between  his  own  and 
')ressed  it,  then  turned  away  and  departed  silently. 
For  a  long  time  Madeleine  looked  after  him,  stand- 
ing motionless  on  the  threshold  of  her  humble  home 
like  one  wi-apt  in  a  thoughtful  mood.  The  sound  of 
his  footsteps  was  at  length  lost  in  the  distance ;  he 
was  gone,  and  she  was  now  alone.  The  thought  fell 
upon  her  heart  with  a  singular  melancholy,  perhaps 
for  the  first  time  in  her  life.  She  listened  as  though 
to  catch  the  sound  of  his  returning  step  ;  but  he  came 
not  back,  for,  though  Madeleine  knew  it  not,  thej' 
were  parted  forever.  • 


X6  MADELEINE. 


CHAPTER  11. 

Madeleine  was  an  orphan ;  she  had  lost  her  moth- 
er in  lier  infancy,  and  her  father  had  now  been  dead 
more  than  a  year.  Jacques  Guerin  was,  during  his 
lifetime,  a  schoolmaster  of  the  most  humble  descrip- 
tion, even  in  Auvergne.  For  nearly  thirty  years  he 
had  resided  in  the  small  cottage  where  Madeleine 
was  born,  and  in  which  she  now  dwelt  alone.  It 
consisted  of  two  rooms  :  the  first  and  largest  was  the 
kitchen,  parlor,  school -room,  and  even  the .  sleeping 
apartment,  of  the  schoolmaster.  The  second  room 
was  his  daughter's ;  it  overlooked  the  green  church- 
yard, with  its  low  hillocks  and  tall  pines,  and,  during 
the  summer  time,  the  young  girl  liked  to  sit  spinning 
at  her  wheel  near  the  open  window. 

From  the  first  room  there  was  a  fine  view  of  the 
neighboring  hills,  and  of  a  rude,  brawling  mountain- 
stream  that  dashed  foamingly  by  within  a  few  yards 
of  the  cottage,  the  only  human  dwelling  that  arose 
on  its  banks.  The  whole  scene  was  singularly  wild 
and  picturesque  ;  the  old  mossy  trunk  of  a  tree  thrown 
across  the  torrent  was  the  only  bridge  which  led  to 
the  opposite  side,  whilst  a  few  weeping  birch-trees, 
which  grew  along  the  rugged  banks,  almost  dipped 
their  waving  branches  into  its  foaming  waters.  High 
and  ancient-looking  hills  that  rose  on  every  side  gave 
to  this  quiet  spot  an  air  of  additional  wildness  and 
solitude.  It  was  here  that  Madeleine  had  passed  her 
youth.  She  seldom  went  to  Mont-Saint-Jean,  imless 
on  Sundays  to  hear  mass  and  vespers ;  her  time  was 


MADELEINE.  17 


cliiefly  spent  at  home  in  order  to  assist  her  father, 
who,  not  being  the  regular  schoohnaster  of  the  vil- 
lage, had  only  a  few  straggling  pupils  on  his  side  of 
the  hill.  As  they  paid  him  en  nature^  that  is  to  say, 
by  small  presents  of  fruit  and  vegetables,  the  gains 
he  derived  from  his  school  would  have  proved  insuf- 
ficient for  the  support  of  himself  and  his  daughter 
but  for  the  produce  of  a  few  acres  of  land,  which  he 
found  time  to  cultivate,  and  the  unceasing  industry 
of  Madeleine,  who,  when  not  engaged  in  attending 
to  the  garden  belonging  to  the  cottage,  was  always 
busy  at  her  wheel. 

The  young  girl  had  learned  all  that  her  father  knew, 
that  is  to  say,  how  to  read,  write,  and  speak  French, 
a  language  scarcely  understood  by  the  villagers,  who 
used  the  dialect  or  patois  of  Auvergne.  But  this  was 
the  sum  of  Madeleine's  knowledge.  She  had  never 
read  but  two  books  in  all  her  life,  an  abridc-ment  of 
sacred  history  and  her  prayer-book.  Her  father  and 
his  occasional  pupils  were,  as  long  as  the  former  lived, 
the  only  beings  besides  Maurice  with  whom  she  held 
any  intercourse  :  even  to  them  she  sj^oke  little  ;  her 
youth  seemed  devoted  to  toil  and  silent  thought.  This 
comparatively  solitary  mode  of  life  developed  the  in- 
nate gravity  of  Madeleine's  character.  She  could  sit 
for  hours  spinning  at  her  wheel  without  uttering  a 
word,  and  gazing  all  the  time  in  a  dreamy  mood  on 
the  quiet  little  churchyard,  or  on  the  clear  mountain- 
stream  that  leaped  down  from  the  rocks  as  if  pos- 
sessed of  a  living  spirit.  Though  she  was  silent  and 
loved  solitude,  Madeleii^e  was  not,  however,  either  of 
a  melancholy  or  of  an  unsocialile  disposition.  When 
she  sat  in  the  sunshine  near  her  father's  door  she  al- 


18  MADELEINE, 


ways  had  a  kind  word  and  still  kinder  smile  for  the 
villagers  who  might  chance  to  pass  by ;  ])ut,  as  she 
asked  no  questions  and  gave  brief  replies,  those  con- 
versations, if  such  they  might  be  called,  never  lasted 
long.  She  seemed,  indeed,  like  one  who  lived  apart 
in  a  world  of  her  own ;  her  wishes  were  as  limited 
as  her  literary  knowledge  ;  she  had  never  once  in  her 
3ife  been  beyond  the  hill  on  which  the  village  of  Mont- 
Saint-Jean  arose.  That  there  were  other  villages,  and 
even  towns  and  cities,  she  knew ;  she  believed  in  them 
as  we  do  in  any  distant  country,  but  she  never  ex- 
pressed a  wish  to  visit  them.  Had  she  been  confined 
between  the  torrent  and  the  green  churchyard,  her 
inward  world  of  thought  would  still  have  been  wide 
and  deep  enough  for  her  meditative  S23irit. 

Madeleine  was,  however,  far  too  ignorant  and  un- 
sophisticated to  understand  the  beautiful  in  nature — • 
the  only  beautiful  which  had  ever  come  under  her  no- 
tice. She  had  been  accustomed  to  it  since  her  birth, 
and  she  saw  and  felt  it,  though  she  knew  not  why  nor 
how.  Had  she  been  asked  if  the  sunset  on  the  hills 
was  fair,  she  might  liave  been  at  a  loss  for  a  reply, 
and  yet  slie  had  gazed  on  it  evening  after  evening 
until  its  loveliness  and  that  of  the  surroundino;  earth 
and  sky  had  sunk  deeply  into  her  heart,  filling  it  with 
inward  peace  and  love.  So  little  was  she  conscious 
of  what  passed  within  her,  that  when  a  jDcasant- woman 
of  Mont-Saint-Jean  once  asked  her  why  it  was  that 
she  seemed  so  fond  of  listening  to  the  wind  as  it  swept 
down  from  the  hills  round  her  father's  cottage,  Mad- 
eleine looked  up  with  surprise,  and,  after  reflecting 
for  a  while,  answered,  that  she  knew  not;  and  yet 
she  had  listened  to  it  for  hours  at  a  time  as  it  moaned 


MADELEINE.  ID 


like  a  human  voice  among  the  distant  hills,  or  waved 
to  and  fro  the  branches  of  the  weeping  birch-trees 
that  grew  near  the  torrent. 

Her  solitary  life  had  given  Madeleine  a  taste  for 
singing  long  and  almost  interminable  ballads  in  the 
patois  of  Anvergne,  sometimes  relating  a  pathetic  and 
melancholy  love-tale,  but  oftener  still  some  wild  and 
poetic  saint's  legend.  Her  father  had  taught  her  to 
sing  a  few  of  those  canticles  and  ballads  in  Trench. 
One  of  them,  the  well-known  story  of  the  pure  and 
holy  Genevieve  of  Brabant,  who,  banished  from  her 
husband's  court,  spent  ten  years  in  a  forest  with  her 
child,  waited  upon  by  the  faithful  fawn,  Madeleine 
seemed  never  weary  of  repeating.  The  history  of  the 
penitent  Magdalen,  and  the  mournful  comjplainte  of 
the  Wandering  Jew,  were  also  among  her  favorites. 
Her  voice,  though  low,  was  clear  and  musical ;  and 
when  some  passing  peasant  heard  it  arise  in  the  silence 
of  the  hills,  wakening  with  that  plaintive  monotonous 
tune  and  those  words  of  an  unknown  tongue  the 
echoes  of  the  quiet  churchyard,  he  often  paused  to 
listen  as  he  gazed  on  the  thoughtful  maiden,  wonder- 
ing what  could  be  the  theme  of  her  endless  song. 

It  was  thus  that  Madeleine's  dreamy  youth  and 
childhood  passed  away.  She  was  twenty  when  she 
lost  her  father.  Maurice,  an  orphan  of  Mont-Saint- 
Jean,  had  been  reared  up  by  the  old  schoolmaster 
almost  as  his  own  child,  and  he  died  with  the  belief 
that  he  loved  Madeleine  with  a  more  than  brotherly 
affection.  The  impression  produced  upon  her  be- 
trothed by  the  sight  of  Rosette  Wesson  had  shewn 
Madeleine  the  truth  ;  she  had  brooded  over  it  in 
silence  for  several  months,  at  the  end  of  which  she  re- 


20  MADELEINE, 


leased  Maurice  from  his  engagement  in  the  manner 
described  in  the  preceding  chapter.  It  was  not  long 
before  what  had  happened  was  known  in  Mont-Saint- 
Jean.  Some  pitied  Madeleine,  and  blamed  Mam'ice ; 
others  declared  they  had  long  expected  that  matters 
would  end  thus ;  and,  whether  through  curiosity  or  a 
more  kindly  feeling,  a  good  many  made  the  chm'cli- 
yard  path  their  way.  They  found  Madeleine  sitting 
at  her  door  in  the  sunshine,  spinning  and  looking  as 
usual.  To  those  who  S23oke  to  her  of  Maurice,  she 
merely  replied,  "  It  was  not  the  will  of  God  that  we 
should  be  man  and  wife ;  His  holy  will  be  done ;  may 
Maurice  and  Hosette  be  happy !"  Her  whole  de- 
meanor was  so  different  from  what  had  been  expected, 
that  many  persons  asserted  Madeleine  had  never 
loved  her  betrothed;  instead  of  reproaches,  she 
breathed  words  of  love  and  peace,  and  those  who  had 
at  the  utmost  expected  her  to  be  resigned,  found  her 
apparently  as  calm  and  serene  as  ever. 

To  say  the  truth,  although  religion  and  solitude  had 
given  a  strong  poetic  coloring  to  Madeleine's  mind, 
there  was  too  much  simplicity  and  earnestness  in  her 
nature  to  leave  room  for  romance.  She  saw  life  as  it 
was,  without  exaggerating  to  herself  either  its  joys 
or  its  sorrows.  When  her  fother  died,  she  grieved 
long  for  his  loss,  and  often  felt  lonely  and  sad  ;  but 
every  night  whilst  remembering  him  in  her  prayers 
she  said  to  herself,  "  It  is  the  will  of  God,"  and  with 
these  few  words  the  bitterness  of  her  sorrow  seemed 
to  pass  away.  This  was  all  Madeleine's  philosophy. 
Those  who  thought,  however,  that  she  had  not  felt 
keenly  the  loss  of  her  betrothed's  affection  wronged 
her.     She  had  sorroM'ed  over  her  loneliness  in  silence. 


MADELEINE.  21 


and  sadlv  wondered  why  Maurice  did  not  love  licr  as 
he  loved  Kosette ;  but,  alas  !  she  was  no  novel  hero- 
ine, and  her  life  could  not  become  a  blank,  like  that 
of  Shakspeare's  maiden,  because  she  was  no  longer 
loved.  She  felt  that  this  earth  would  be  as  green, 
and  the  sky  as  serenely  j^ure,  now  as  they  had  ever 
been  before,  and,  though  she  was  sad,  she  could  not 
resign  herself  to  cheerless  gloom  and  melancholy  for 
the  rest  of  her  days.  PerhajDS  her  thoughts  did  not 
take  exactly  this  form  ;  such,  however,  was  their  sub- 
stance. Poor  Madeleine  would  have  been  pronounced 
an  imperfect  being  by  many  individuals  ;  for,  though 
she  loved  truly  and  tenderly,  with  all  the  fervor  of  a 
woman's  heart,  she  was  not  capable  of  feeling  that 
intensity  of  passion  which  is  so  often  only  another 
name  for  selfishness,  and  makes  two  beings  delight  in 
one  another  to  the  exclusion  of  the  whole  world. 

The  poetry  of  Madeleine's  mind  was  naturally 
strong,  though  scarcely  developed;  still  its  pure, 
healthful  tone  pervaded  her  whole  being  ;  it  was  the 
poetry  of  nature,  full  of  hope,  trust,  and  gladness,  and 
widely  different  from  the  morbid  feeling  which  has 
often  usurped  the  name.  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to 
say  that  of  those  nice  distinctions  Madeleine  herself 
knew  nothing  ;  poetry  for  her  was  any  rude  rhyme 
which  might  be  sung  to  a  still  ruder  air,  and  of  prose 
she  was  as  naively  ignorant  as  the  renowned  Mon- 
sieur Jourdain  himself. 

Madeleine's  religious  feelings  had  partly  taken  the 
tone  of  her  mind  and  partly  given  it ;  with  the  dif- 
ferences of  creeds  or  dogmas  she  never  troubled  hcr« 
self;  her  faith  was  that  of  a  child,  implicitly  believing 
all  that  its  teachers  tell ;  but,  though  she  keenly  felt 


22  MADELEINE. 


the  poetic  beauty  of  religion,  she  had  only  a  very 
slight  portion  of  mysticism, — even  in  this  she  was 
eminently  practical.  Her  soul  overflowed  with  a 
boundless  love  of  God ;  but  that  love  was  not  satis- 
fied with  remaining  in  heaven;  human-like,  it  re- 
turned to  earth,  and  spread  itself  over  every  earthly 
creature.  Though  free  from  mystic  tendencies,  Mad- 
eleine delighted  in  mental  prayer,  which  to  her  was 
thought.  It  was,  besides,  the  only  mode  in  which 
she  could  relieve  her  heart  from  the  many  feelings 
with  which  it  was  crowded.  'No  one  in  Mont-Saint- 
Jean  could  have  understood  her;  how  could  they, 
when  she  did  not  understand  herself,  and  would  have 
been  unable  to  express  her  feelings  by  language? 
Thus  it  was  that  the  thought  of  God  was  seldom  away 
from  her  mind  ;  but  it  brought  no  terrors  with  it ;  it 
never  dwelt  there  save  as  a  pure  and  holy  feeling  of 
love.  Though  her  life  might  thus  in  one  sense  be 
said  to  be  spent  in  prayer,  Madeleine  had  set  apart  a 
certain  daily  portion  of  time  which  she  devoted  to 
that  holy  exercise  ;  this  was  towards  twilight,  when 
it  grew  too  dark  for  her  to  work  any  longer.  Then, 
in  summer-time  especially,  she  would  kneel  before  a 
small  crucifix  near  an  open  window,  and,  often  allow- 
ing her  gaze  to  wander  from  the  sacred  image  to  the 
clear  blue  heavens  as  they  fast  filled  with  countless 
stars,  she  repeated  in  a  low  tone  some  sim])le  litany 
or  orison.  But  her  lips  alone  uttered  the  hallowed 
words,  for  in  her  heart  there  dwelt  a  silent  prayer  of 
love  still  far  more  pure. 

If  we  have  been  thus  explicit  in  drawing  at  some 
length  the  chief  traits  of  Madeleine's  character,  it  is 
not  merely  that  she  is  to  act  a  leading  part  in  this 


MADELEINE.  23 


history,  but  also  because  she  belonged  to  that  numer- 
ous class  of  beings  whose  thoughts  are  never  expressed 
by  words  but  by  deeds,  and  who  pass  away  from  earth 
unknown,  leaviiig  the  mystery  of  their  nature  a  mys- 
tery still. 

It  has  already  been  observed  that  the  general  be- 
lief in  Mont-Saint-Jean  was,  that  Madeleine  had  felt 
little  or  no  grief  for  the  loss  of  her  betrothed.  But  a 
peasant  girl  named  Marie  Michon,  who  lived  among 
the  hills  on  the  other  side  of  the  torrent,  and  who 
happened  to  be  Madeleine's  nearest  neighbor,  thought 
otherwise.  To  her  it  seemed  that  the  schoolmaster's 
daughter  looked  more  sad  or  more  thoughtful — which 
she  could  not  tell — since  Maurice  no  longer  came  to 
her  cottage.  When  she  passed  by  her  door  she  found 
her  at  her  work  as  usual,  but  she  missed  her  gentle 
though  melancholy  song,  and  noticed  that  her  revery 
seemed  to  grow  deeper  every  day.  Marie  was  the 
daughter  of  a  poor  peasant,  and  a  kind  of  friendly, 
though  very  limited  intercourse,  had  sprung  up  be- 
tween her  and  Madeleine,  She  was  a  short,  thick-set 
girl,  with  a  grotesque  and  good-humored  countenance. 
Though  she  might  certainly  be  termed  one  of  the 
happiest  and  most  contented  of  human  beings,  she 
entertained,  nevertheless,  a  painful  consciousness  of 
her  want  of  personal  attractions,  and  often  alluded  to 
the  fact  as  though  she  would  willingly  have  doubted 
it.  The  coarse  jests  which  were  continually  made  at 
her  expense,  were  not  calculated,  however,  to  leave 
her  any  illusion.  Marie  Michon  appeared  to  take  all 
this  raillery  in  good  part.  She  knew  that  to  seem 
hurt  or  offended  would  only  add  to  the  satisfaction  ot 
her  ill-natured  antagonists,  and  increase  the  persecu 


24:  MADELEINE 


tion;  but  every  word  which  reminded  her  of  her 
ugliness  fell  on  her  heart  with  singular  bitterness. 
Still  it  never  occurred  to  her  that  those  who  took  such 
a  mean  advantage  of  her  infirmities  were  to  blame. 
She  felt  that  if  she  had  been  handsome  she  would 
not  have  had  to  suffer  from  their  remarks,  and  she 
laid  all  the  fault  to  her  unfortunate  want  of  good  looks. 
If  Marie  had  been  asked  why  she  took  pleasure  in 
Madeleine's  company,  she  would  have  found  it  diffi- 
cult to  answer  correctly ;  Madeleine  was  silent  and 
reserved,  and  always  carefully  avoided  speaking  of 
the  affairs  of  others ;  now  Marie,  though  exceedingly 
good-natured  upon  the  whole,  was  somewhat  of  a 
gossip,  and  never  scrupled,  unless  in  the  presence  of 
her  friend,  perhaps,  from  making  remarks  on  the  be- 
havior of  her  acquaintances.  She  might  .walk  a 
league  to  oblige  a  neighbor,  but  this  would  not  pre- 
vent her  from  observing  to  the  first  person  she  met 
afterwards,  that  "Joseph's  wife  did  not  keep  her 
house  clean,  and  was  a  great  scold."  This  difierence 
of  disposition  rendered  the  conversations  of  Marie 
and  Madeleine  exceedingly  short  and  uninteresting. 
But  the  secret  of  Marie's  friendship  for  the  school- 
master's daughter  was,  that  she  was,  perhaps,  the 
only  jjerson  who  had  never  reminded  her  by  word  or 
look  of  her  want  of  attractions.  Marie  was  not  hum- 
bled in  Madeleine's  presence  by  the  sense  of  her  per- 
sonal inferiority ;  nay,  she  sometimes  fancied  that  she 
was  almost  her  equal  in  point  of  good  looks.  It  is 
true  that  Madeleine  was  not  pretty,  and  Marie  knew, 

"  For  quickly  comes  such  knowledge," 

that  there  was  not  a  woman  in  the  village  who  had 


MADELEINE.  25 


hair  like  her  own  ;  but  that  hair,  which  would  have 
been  invaluable  to  a  fashionable  ladj,  was  almost 
thrown  away  on  the  peasant  girl,  for  no  one  ever  saw 
it.  Occasionally,  however,  Marie  gave  herself  the 
satisfaction  of  displaying  it  before  Madeleine,  either 
pretending  that  it  wanted  to  be  settled,  or  that  her 
cap  was  not  right  on  her  head,  and  allowing  her  dark 
silky  tresses  to  fall  down  around  her  until  they  formed 
a  natural  mantle  which  a  queen  might  have  envied. 

On  those  occasions  Madeleine  never  failed  to  ex- 
claim, "  Oh  !  Marie,  how  beautiful  your  hair  looks 
to-day !"  Upon  which  Marie  would  color  up  with 
glad  sm-prise,  for  to  her  a  word  of  praise  seemed  an 
ever  new  pleasure,  and  for  one  day  at  least,  she  would 
feel  happy  to  think  she  really  had  something  that 
could  be  admired.  But  gratified  vanity  was  not  the 
only  feeling  tliat  made  Marie  seek  the  company  of 
Madeleine  ;  she  loved  her  for  her  unvarying  gentle- 
ness, and  at  the  same  time  looked  upon  her  with  in- 
gtinctive  awe,  as  a  being  above  human  fears,  living 
as  she  did,  alone,  near  that  old  churchyard. 

"  Do  you  never  feel  afraid  ?"  she  one  day  asked  of  her. 

"Afraid  of  what?"  simply  replied  Madeleine. 

"  Of  the  spirits  of  the  dead,"  answered  Marie,  cast- 
ing a  terrified  glance  towards  the  neighboring  graves. 

"  IS'o,  I  do  not  fear  them,"  calmly  said  Madeleine, 
for  she  was  not  so  far  above  the  superstitions  of  her 
native  hills  as  to  deny  the  existence  of  spirits ;  "  if 
they  are  evil,"  she  continued,  "  God  will  not  suffer 
them  to  injure  me,  and  the  spirits  of  the  good  will 
rather  watch  over  me  and  protect  me  from  harm. 
I  should  like  to  see  a  good  spirit,"  she  added  in  a 
tlir  ughtful  tone. 


26  MADELEINE, 


Marie  opened  Ler  eyes  very  wide,  and  wondered 
to  hear  this ;  slie  said  nothing,  but  from  that  time 
her  awe  of  Madeleine  increased,  and  she  almost 
looked  upon  her  as  one  who  held  communion  with 
the  other  world.  Although  she  did  not  say  as  much 
to  her  acquaintances,  her  hints  on  the  subject,  added 
to  Madeleine's  strange  and  solitary  mode  of  life, 
caused  the  villagers  to  look  upon  her  as  a  being 
apart  from  themselves. 

One  day  when  Marie  had  crossed  the  torrent  as 
usual,  in  order  to  pay  her  friend  a  visit,  she  found 
her  engaged  in  conversation  with  a  travelling  pedler. 
^Neither  Madeleine  nor  the  stranger  seemed  to  notice 
her  approach,  and  instead  of  joining  them,  Marie 
silently  entered  the  small  garden  which  extended  be- 
tween the  cottage  and  the  churchyard.  Although 
such  was  not  her  intention,  she  thus  overheard  part 
of  their  discourse. 

"I  have  seen  Maurice,"  said  the  pedler. 

"  Is  he  well  ?"  asked  Madeleine. 

"  He  is,  and  greets  you  kindly." 

"How  is  Kosette  Besson?"  she  continued,  after 
remaining  silent  for  a  while. 

The  pedler  made  no  reply. 

"  I  understand  you,"  said  Madeleine  in  a  low, 
mournful  tone,  "  they  are  married.  May  God  bless  and 
render  them  happy,"  she  added,  after  a  long  pause. 

The  pedler  loitered  about  the  door  as  though  he 
felt  unwilling  to  depart,  and  at  length  observed,  "I 
suppose  you  have  no  message  to  give  me  ?" 

"Yes,  I  have,"  she  calmly  replied;  "tell  them  that 
you  found  me  here  in  good  health,  spinning  on  the 
doorway,  and  repeat  to  them  the  words  T  have  said." 


MADELEINE.  27 

The  pecller,  merely  bidding  her  farewell,  shouldered 
his  pack  and  dej^arted,  Marie  was  much  concerned 
by  what  she  had  overheard ;  she  felt  for  Madeleine, 
and  longed  to  go  to  her,  but  dared  not.  She  at  length 
left  the  garden  and  drew  near,  but  Madeleine  was  so 
deeply  absorbed  in  thought,  though  she  was  still 
spinning  abstractedly,  that  she  neither  saw  nor  heard 
her  friend.  Her  usually  serene  features  now  wore  a 
slight  shade  of  sadness  ;  she  gazed  fixedly  upon  the 
mountain-torrent,  but  her  mind  was  evidently  far 
away.  After  waiting  for  some  time  to  attract  her 
notice,  Marie,  seeing  her  still  in  the  same  state  of 
abstraction,  slowly  and  silently  left  the  place. 

The  following  day  Marie  did  not  fail  to  pass  as 
though  by  chance  opposite  Madeleine's  cottage ;  she 
entered  into  conversation  with  her,  but,  though  she 
longed  to  speak  to  her  of  Maurice's  marriage,  and  to 
tell  her  that  he  had  left  Mont-Saint-Jean,  and  was 
now  living  wdth  the  family  of  his  wife,  besides  all  the 
particulars  of  the  wedding  which  she  had  industriously 
collected,  she  found  no  oj^portunity  of  mentioning  the 
subject,  to  w^hich  Madeleine,  who  seemed  in  her  usual 
state  of  mind,  made  no  allusion. 

Yet  from  that  day  forward  Marie  Michon  thought 
that  there  was  something  changed  in  Madeleine;  she 
was  not  more  sad,  but  rather  more  grave  than  before ; 
at  times  her  pale  cheek  flushed  and  her  deep  blue 
eyes  kindled  as  though  she  were  stirred  by  some 
emotion  within ;  often  too  she  w^ould  sit  in  the  same 
attitude  and  gaze  on  the  same  spot  for  hours,  like  one 
indifferent  to  surrounding  objects,  and  wrapped  up 
in  the  shadow  of  some  solemn  and  lofty  thought. 
Occasionally,  when  Marie  called  upon  her,  she  missed 


28  MADELEINE. 

her  from  the  doorstep,  and  found  her  within  kneeling 
before  her  crucifix,  and  so  deeply  absorbed  in  prayer 
that  she  remained  unconscious  of  her  presence,  the 
more  so  as  the  young  girl  always  drew  reverently 
away,  hushing  the  sound  of  her  footsteps  and  drawing 
in  her  breath,  for,  as  she  averred,  Madeleine  then 
wore  a  look  so  pure  and  holy  that  she  seemed  more 
like  a  saint  than  like  any  thing  human.  Far  however 
from  relaxing  in  her  usual  labors,  Madeleine  now 
worked  incessantly;  her  wheel  might  be  heard  by 
the  passer-by  at  break  of  day,  and  the  light  in  her 
cottage  showed  that  she  toiled  until  a  late  hour  of  the 
night.  This  increased  industry  caused  much  specula- 
tion in  Mont-Saint-Jean ;  for,  what  with  the  produce 
of  her  garden,  the  price  she  received  for  her  labor,  and 
the  small  income  which  she  derived  from  the  few 
acres  of  ground  her  father  had  left  her,  Madeleine 
had  certainly  enough  to  live  upon.  Some  said  she 
was  going  to  get  married,  without  being  able  to  guess 
to  whom,  and  asserted  that,  being  a  prudent,  thrifty 
girl,  she  wanted  to  prepare  for  her  new  state  by 
hoarding  up  a  little  fortune. 

A  fact  that  gave  some  confirmation  to  this  report 
was,  that  towards  the  end  of  autumn  Madeleine 
purchased  several  sacks  of  flour  and  of  dried  vege- 
tables ;  she  even  got  in  some  wine,  and  converted  her 
narrow  cottage  into  a  kind  of  storehouse.  It  was  also 
ascertained  that  one  of  the  pedlers  who  crossed  the 
country  towards  the  "beginning  of  the  cold  weather 
had  sold  her  a  large  assortment  of  clothing  for  winter 
wear.  But  Marie  Michon,  who  was  known  to  be 
well  informed,  asserted  that  no  one  ever  came  near 
Madeleine's  cottage,  so  that,  though  slowly  and  re- 


MADELEINE.  29 


luctantly,  the  belkf  in  lier  approacliing  marriage  was 
given  up  by  the  wise  heads  of  Mont-Saint-Jean. 
Some  of  those  individuals  who  are  always  able  to 
explain  every  thing  soon  surmised,  however,  that  the 
silent  and  solitary  Madeleine  knew  more  than  people 
thought,  and,  foreseeing  that  the  coming  winter  would 
be  one  of  unusual  severity,  thus  prudently  provided 
herself  beforehand  with  every  thing  needful.  A  woman 
more  inquisitive  or  less  in  awe  of  Madeleine  than  the 
other  villagers  asked  her  one  day  if  this  were  true. 

"  I  know  nothing  of  the  winter  that  God  will  send 
us,"  gravely  said  Madeleine,  who  seemed  unwilling 
to  give  any  other  explanation  of  her  conduct. 


CHAPTER  III. 

TuE  winter  set  in  with  unusual  severity ;  of  course, 
notwithstanding  her  denial  of  the  fact,  Madeleine 
was  asserted  to  have  foretold  it,  and  she  accordingly 
began  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  gifted  being  in  Mont- 
Saint- Jean.  Towards  the  beginning  of  ISTovember 
th-ere  was  a  heavy  fall  of  snow,  which  rendered  many 
of  the  paths  along  the  hills  entirely  impracticable. 
Still  Marie  Michon  continued  to  visit  Madeleine  :  she 
did  not  always  venture  to  cross  the  fragile  bridge 
which  led  to  her  dwelling,  but  there  was  a  safer  one 
about  a  league  farther  down  the  stream,  and  she 
never  hesitated  walking  that  distance  in  order  to  see 
her  friend,  though  Madeleine  frequently  remonstrated 
with  her  on  the  subject. 


so  MADELEINE. 


One  morning  Marie  came  as  usual,  but,  though 
tlie  day  was  fine  and  clear  when  she  set  out,  the  sky 
grew  so  clouded  and  overcast  towards  the  afternoon, 
and  the  snow,  which  then  began  to  fall,  gave  so 
threatening  an  aspect  to  the  weather,  that  she  did 
not  like  to  venture  to  return  home,  and  was  easily 
induced  by  Madeleine  to  spend  the  day  with  her,  and 
postpone  her  departure  until  the  next  morning. 

Marie  was  delighted  with  this  proposal;  her  pa- 
rents, she  said,  would  not  feel  uneasy,  for  they  knew 
where  she  was,  and  could  easily  guess  on  seeing  the 
state  of  the  weather  why  she  did  not  return.  Made- 
leine smiled  on  hearing  her  speak  thus,  for  she  knew 
that  it  was  more  the  wish  of  remaining  with  her  than 
the  fear  of  being  lost  in  the  snow,  that  had  induced 
the  young  girl  to  stay. 

Marie  had  probably  reckoned  that  by  spending  the 
day  with  Madeleine  she  would  have  an  opportunity 
of  speaking  to  her,  and  of  learning  a  great  many  cir- 
cumstances of  her  past  life,  of  which  she  was  still 
ignorant.  In  this,  however,  she  was  mistaken ;  Made- 
leine listened  to  her  patiently,  but  she  spoke  little, 
and  seemed  even  more  abstracted  than  usual.  Con- 
trary to  ner  custom,  she  sat  in  the  inner  room,  near 
the  window,  and  often  paused  in  her  work  to  look  on 
the  falling  snow.  Marie  could  not  help  asking  her 
why  she  did  so. 

"  I  am  thinldng,"  answered  Madeleine,  "  of  the 
widow  who  lives  on  the  hill." 

"  Ah  !  yes,  up  there,"  exclaimed  Marie,  glancing 
towards  one  of  the  neighboring  heights,  on  the  sum 
mit  of  which  arose  a  solitary  cottage.  "  Why,  the 
poor  woman  must  suffer  greatly  from  the  cold  ;  and, 


MADELEINE.  31 


if  the  snow  should  block  her  in,  how  dreadful  it 
vrould  be  !" 

Madeleine  made  no  rej^lv,  but  she  looked  long  and 
earnestly  at  the  widow's  cottage ;  though  it  was  partly 
covered  with  snow,  a  thin  curling  smoke  still  arose 
from  its  tall  and  narrow  chimney. 

Marie's  fancy  was  excited  ;  she  loved  the  terrible 
and  the  marvellous,  and  always  had  a  host  of  legends 
on  any  kindred  subject  at  her  command.  She  now 
began  relating  to  Madeleine  strange  and  melancholy 
histories  of  snow-storms,  of  travellers  who  had  been 
lost  in  them,  and  of  cottages  that  had  vanished  for- 
ever, with  their  inhabitants,  being  buried  many  feet 
deep  by  the  snow ;  all  of  which  narratives  were  per- 
fectly authentic,  as  they  had  been  handed  down  in 
Mont-Saint  Jean,  almost  as  she  told  them,  for  several 
generations.  The  moment  was  a  propitious  one  to 
give  such  recitals  their  full  effect.  It  was  night,  but 
a  cheerful  fire  blazed  on  the  cottage  hearth,  near 
which  sat  Madeleine,  busy  at  her  wheel ;  without, 
however;  all  was  dark  and  dreary  ;  the  snow  fell  fast 
and  was  still  drifted  by  the  fitful  gusts  of  wind, 
which  moaned  dismally  among  the  old  churchyard 
trees.  Though  Madeleine  did  not  seem  much  affected 
by  Marie's  stories,  with  which  she  was  already  familiar, 
the  young  girl  noticed  that  when  she  spoke  of  the 
wolves  which  had  lately  been  seen  prowling  around 
the  woods,  near  the  eastern  hill — that  on  which  the 
widow's  cottage  stood — her  friend  listened  to  her  with 
deep  attention. 

It  snowed  all  night,  and  even  dm-ing  the  greater 
part  of  the  following  morning.  At  about  twelve 
o'clock  there  was  a  moment  of  cloudy  rest;  the  wind 


32  MADELEINE. 


ceased,  but  the  sky  still  wore  a  dull,  gray  hue.  Marie 
was  pondering  in  her  mind  whether  she  ought  to  go 
home  or  not,  and  wondering  if  her  parents  felt  much 
alarmed  at  her  long  absence,  when  Madeleine,  who 
had  been  for  some  time  in  her  room,  now  came  out 
into  that  where  her  guest  was  sitting  near  the  fire. 
The  young  girl  noticed  with  much  surprise  that  she 
was  dressed  as  though  to  go  out,  having  her  gray 
cloth  cloak  wrapped  around  her,  and  holding  a  long 
staff,  with  an  iron  spike  at  one  end  of  it,  in  her  hand. 

"  Why,  Madeleine,  wherever  are  you  going  ?"  cried 
Marie. 

Madeleine,  who  was  now  busy  jratting  some  jjro- 
visions  into  a  basket,  calmly  replied,  "  To  the  eastern 
hill." 

"  To  the  eastern  hill !"  repeated  Marie,  with  a  be- 
wildered glance :  "  whatever  can  you  want  there?" 

"  I  must  see  the  widow,"  said  Madeleine ;  "  this 
whole  morning  the  smoke  has  ceased  to  arise  from 
her  chimney." 

Marie  glanced  towards  the  hill ;  the  cottage  was 
almost  buried  in  the  snow,  but,  though  the  chimney 
was  still  visible,  it  had  ceased  to  pour  forth  the  thin, 
curling  smoke  which  announced  that  a  living  being 
inhabited  that  dreary  dwelling.  "  Perhaps  she  has 
no  more  fuel,"  hinted  Marie ;  "  that  may  be  the  reason 
that  her  fire  is  out." 

Madeleine  shook  her  head :  "  It  is  but  two  days 
ago,"  she  observed,  "  that  the  priest  sent  her  a  dozen 
of  faggots ;  they  passed  before  my  door,  and  dame 
Ursula  told  me  they  were  for  a  poor  sick  widow  on 
the  hill ;  she  cannot  have  burned  them  all  vet ;  she 
must  be  either  very  ill,  or,  peniaps,  alread;^  dead." 


MADELEINE.  35 


"  Madeleine,''  auxioiislv  olDserved  Marie,  "  the  snow 
is  at  least  two  feet  deep ;  depend  npon  it,  jou  are 
not  the  only  person  who  has  thought  of  this  poor 
woman,  yet  you  see  no  one  ventures  to  go  near  her ; 
and  if  strong  men  did  not  dare  to  climb  up  there 
what  can  you  do  ?" 

"  Attempt  it,"  calmly  answered  Madeleine,  mov- 
ing towards  the  door.  But  Marie,  taking  hold  of  her 
gray  cloak,  endeavored  to  detain  her ;  "  Madeleine, 
my  dear  Madeleine,"  she  exclaimed,  in  broken  ac- 
cents ;  "  oh !  do  not  go,  for  the  blessed  Virgin's  sake  ; 
for  if  you  do,  something  tells  me  I  shall  never  see 
you  again." 

Madeleine  looked  back  with  a  kindly  smile  on  the 
weeping  girl. 

"Marie,"  said  she,  gravely,  "trust  me,  if  God 
blesses,  as  I  hope  he  does,  the  task  which  I  have 
taken  upon  myself.  He  will  not  suifer  me  to  perish 
now.  This  is  but  the  besrinnino;  of  that  work  which 
must  be  the  work  of  my  whole  life.  ]N"-vertheless 
pray  for  me ;  you  will  know  that  I  am  sale  H'hen  the 
smoke  rises  once  more  from  the  widow's  cottage." 

Madeleine  bent  towards  Marie  as  she  spoke,  gently 
pressed  her  lips  upon  her  brow,  and,  freeing  herself 
from  Ler  grasp,  she  swiftly  descended  the  stone  steps, 
and  took  the  path  which,  after  winding  round  the 
little  cemetery,  led  to  the  eastern  hill.  It  was  in 
vain  that  Marie  called  her  back,  earnestly  conjuring 
her  to  return.  Madeleine  did  not  even  look  behind, 
and  was  soon  hidden  by  the  churchyard  wall  from 
the  sight  of  her  friend. 

The  task  which  Madeleine  had  undertaken  was 
both  difficult  and  dangerous.     The  widow's  cottage 


34:  MADELEINE. 


stood  on  one  of  the  highest  peaks  of  the  eastern  hill, 
and,  though  the  distance  which  now  divided  her  from 
it  was  aj^parently  short,  it  was  rendered  considerable 
by  a  deep  ravine,  which  compelled  her  to  turn  round 
the  base  of  the  hill  in  order  to  take  a  narrow,  wind- 
ing path  leading  to  its  summit.  In  ordinary  weather 
this  would  not  have  happened,  for  Madeleine,  who 
was  exceedingly  agile,  and  well  acquainted  with  the 
locality,  could  easily  have  ascended  the  hill  even  on 
its  steep  and  rocky  side,  now  entirely  covered  with 
snow.  In  order  to  reach  the  path  already  alluded  to, 
she  was  obliged  to  cross  a  wide  plain,  skirted  on  one 
side  by  a  w^ood  of  some  extent,  which  grew  at  the 
foot  of  the  hill.  "When  she  entered  this  plain  Made- 
leine was  struck  with  its  dreary  and  solemn  aspect ; 
accustomed  as  she  was  to  such  scenes,  the  silence  and 
the  solitude  of  this  struck  awe  into  her  heart,  and 
made  her  involuntarily  pause  to  look  around  her  be- 
fore she  went  on.  A  wide  sheet  of  dazzling  snow 
extended  before  her,  mingling  in  the  distance  with 
the  faint,  shadowy  outline  of  the  hills,  which  in  their 
turn  almost  vanished  on  the  dull  gray  of  the  sky. 
The  same  dim  and  indistinct  hue  seemed  to  pervade 
the  whole  landscape.  On  her  right  arose  the  wood 
already  alluded  to ;  it  covered  the  lower  j^ortion  of 
the  hill,  and  the  spectre-like  forms  of  its  tall  pines, 
clothed  with  snow,  only  stood  in  faint  relief  on  their 
white  background.  The  sounds  of  beast  or  bird, 
which  usually  broke  on  the  silence  of  this  wild  spot, 
were  now  hushed ;  the  voice  of  the  wind  itself  had 
died  away  among  the  distant  hills  ;  no  trace  of  a 
human  being  was  to  bo  discerned.     All  was  solemn 


etillncss  and  undisturbed  solitude. 


MADELEINE.  35 


After  gazing  around  lier  for  a  few  minutes,  Made- 
leine continued  her  journey,  casting  a  glance  into  the 
dim  recesses  of  the  wood  as  she  passed  it  by,  and  oc- 
casionally pausing  to  listen  and  ascertain  if  it  was  a 
distant  howling,  or  the  far  voice  of  the  wind,  which 
reached  her  ear.  She  walked  for  about  an  hour  with- 
out meeting  with  any  serious  obstacle  to  her  progress, 
thouo;h  she  noticed  with  uneasiness  the  increasing 
gloom  of  the  shy.  When  she  reached  that  part  of 
the  hill  where  the  path  which  was  to  lead  her  to  its 
summit  should  have  been,  Madeleine  could  see  no 
token  of  it.  It  was  not  only  hidden  by  the  snow,  but 
even  the  hollow  along  which  it  wound  was  completely 
filled  up.  The  whole  hill,  though  Madeleine  knew  it 
to  abound  with  small  clefts  and  ravines,  which  bor- 
dered the  path  on  either  side,  now  wore  the  same 
smooth  and  treacherous  covering  of  dazzling  white- 
ness. Her  first  act  was  to  endeavor  to  ascertain 
where  stood  a  small  wooden  cross  which  rose  at  the 
foot  of  the  path,  and  from  which  she  knew  she  could 
not  be  far  away,  though  it  wa^  now  entirely  hidden. 
After  driving  her  long  staff  into  the  snow  for  some 
time,  without  discovering  the  object  of  her  search, 
she  at  length  felt  resistance  in  a  particular  place,  and 
clearing  away  the  snow  in  that  spot,  found  to  her  sat- 
isfaction that  it  was  occasioned  by  the  summit  of  the 
wooden  cross,  which,  though  partly  bent  down  by  the 
wind,  still  stood  in  its  usual  place.  This  fact  showed 
Madeleine  that  the  snow  was  not  quite  so  deep  as  she 
had  thought  at  first,  and  encouraged  her  to  begin  her 
ascent. 

The  path  which  led  to  the  summit  of  the  hill  took 
the  form  of  the  letter  S  ;  the  cross  marked  the  lower 


36  MADELEINE, 


point,  and  the  widow's  cottage  tlie  ripper  one ;  a 
stunted  beech  which  grew  in  one  of  the  windings  and 
a  rock  which  arose  on  the  other  side  also  acted  as 
hind-marks.  Madeleine's  fear  was,  not  of  mistaking 
the  riglit  path,  but  of  being  surprised  by  the  snow 
before  she  had  reached  the  end  of  her  journey.  She 
now  began  her  ascent  Avithout  loss  of  time,  but  she 
i^voceeded,  however,  with  the  greatest  caution,  sound- 
ing the  depth  of  the  snow  and  partly  clearing  it  away 
as  she  went  along.  Madeleine  possessed  both  cour- 
age and  j^atience  ;  she  was  not  therefore  disheartened 
by  the  difficulties  or  the  tediousness  of  her  ascent,  but 
she  was  not  naturally  strong,  and  even  the  light  bas- 
ket which  she  carried  considerably  impeded  her  prog- 
ress. Though  she  would  gladly  have  gone  on  with- 
out pausing,  she  was  occasionally  obliged  to  rest  in 
order  to  recruit  her  failing  strength.  When  she  then 
looked  back  on  the  way  along  which  she  had  come, 
Madeleine  saw  with  an  anxious  feeling  that  it  was  as 
nothing  in  comparison  to  the  distance  over  which  she 
had  yet  to  journey,  ^lie  also  knew  that  time  waned 
apace ;  it  was  at  least  two  hours  since  she  had  set 
out,  and  she  could  already  see  some  lights  twinkling 
in  the  valley  on  the  other  side  of  the  hill.  More  than 
once  she  glanced  towards  the  widow's  cottage ;  it 
still  wore  the  same  air  of  death-like  rej)0se  which  had 
induced  her  to  undertake  her  present  expedition  ;  and 
every  time  she  looked  on  it,  the  thought  of  the  suffer- 
ings its  lonely  tenant  might  then  be  enduring  urged 
her  on  to  new  efforts. 

Madeleine  had  toiled  about  half  way  up  the  hill 
when  she  perceived  with  great  uneasiness  that  it  was 
beginning  to  snow.     She  was  aware  of  the  danger  of 


MADELEI]JfE 


being  surprised  by  a  storm  in  this  desolate  spot,  and 
hastened  on,  hoping  to  reach  the  goal  of  her  journey 
in  time.  In  less  than  a  few  minutes,  however,  she 
found  herself  enveloped  in  one  of  the  densest  falls  of 
snow  which  she  had  ever  witnessed,  even  in  this 
mountainous  reo-iou.  It  was  in  vain  she  endeavored 
to  advance,  the  thick  flakes  which  the  wind  drove 
full  in  her  face  almost  blinded  her  ;  she  instinctively 
turned  round  to  look  for  some  place  of  shelter,  but 
none  met  her  eye.  A  projecting  rock  which  had  at- 
tracted her  notice  a  few  minutes  before,  had  now  dis- 
appeared ;  the  valley  and  its  lights,  the  widow's  cot- 
tage, the  very  path  she  had  been  following,  all  were 
gone,  or  rather,  all  had  vanished  from  her  view  in  the 
surrounding  mist :  she  could  see  nothing  but  the 
white  snow  as  it  sped  by  her  with  the  swiftness  of  an 
arrow  on  its  way.  A  chilliness  now  fell  upon  Made- 
leine's heart :  she  felt  that  she  stood  alone  on  that 
snowy  peak,  alike  removed  from  human  ken  or  hu- 
man aid.  Already  a  swift  insidious  torpor  crept  over 
her  wearied  frame,  her  eyes  involuntarily  closed,  and 
that  treacherous  sleep,  which  is  the  forerunner  ol 
death,  was  beginning  to  allure  her^  now  that  the  ex- 
ertion of  toiling  up  the  hill  no  longer  rendered  hei 
insensible  to  the  intense  cold. 

Madeleine  possessed  that  coolness  which  consti- 
tutes real  courage.  She  knew  the  exact  peril  of  hei 
present  position,  and  could  look  her  danger  in  the 
face  with  as  much  calmness  as  though  it  were  not 
for  her  a  matter  of  life  or  death.  She  saw  that  she 
must  decide  on  remaining  where  she  was,  or  on  con- 
tinuing her  ascent,  and  a  moment's  thought  showed 
her  the  danger  of  either  course.     If  she  remained,  it 


38  MADELEINE. 


was  only  too  probable  that,  in  S2:)ite  of  all  her  eflbrts 
to  keep  awake,  she  might  fall  asleep  and  be  frozen 
to  death ;  if,  on  the  contrary,  she  went  on,  there  was 
the  risk  of  losing  her  way  altogether,  and  of  being 
led  by  some  treacherous  snow-drift  over  the  edge  of 
a  ravine  or  precipice ;  still  this  last  course  afforded  a 
chance  of  safety,  and  she  soon  decided  on  adopting 
it,  first  fervently  imploring  the  blessing  of  Heaven. 
All  that  Madeleine  knew  about  the  way  she  was  to 
take  was,  that  she  must  face  the  snow,  for  she  had 
noticed  when  it  began  to  fall  that  the  wind  blew  it 
towards  her  from  the  widow's  cottage.     Althouirh 
this  fact  served  to  guide  her,  it  also  impeded  her 
progress ;  her  clothes  were  now  thoroughly  wet,  and, 
being  thus   rendered  heavier,  clung  to  her  limbs. 
More  than  once  did  Madeleine  stop  through  very 
weariness,  though  the  gathering  darkness  told  her 
that  every  pause  might  be  death ;  she  never  rested 
long,  however,  but  soon  resumed  her  ascent,  toiling 
blindly  on  with  a  desj^erate  energy,  inspired  by  the 
instinct  of  self-preservation,  and  a  still  more  hallowed 
motive.     Half  an  hour  thus  elapsed,  during  which 
Madeleine,  though  often  driven  back  by  the  eddying 
gusts  of  snow,  had,  by  dint  of  perseverance  and  heroic 
efforts,  made  considerable  progress.    But  her  sinking 
limbs  at  length  refused  to  bear  her  any  longer.     The 
wind  had  changed,  and  she  knew  not  where  she  was, 
yet  she  strove  to  go  on,  hoping  still  in  the  very  face 
of  death ;  the  effort,  however,  was  vain,  and,  utterly 
exhausted,  Madeleine  sank  down  on  her  knees  in  the 
Snow.     She  instinctively  extended  her  hands  to  seek 
for  support,  and  as  she  did  so  she  felt  a  hard,  flat 
substance  resisting  her  touch.     Madeleine  uttered  a 


MADELEINE.  39 


cry  of  glad  surprise;  the  goal  of  her  journey  waa 
reached,  for,  though  she  had  not  seen  it  under  its 
covering  of  snow,  the  cottage  now  stood  before  her. 
'New  strength  seemed  poured  into  her;  she  rose 
hastily,  felt  for  the  door,  removed  the  snow  which  lay 
heaped  around  it,  and,  raising  the  latcb,  quickly  en- 
tered. By  the  faint  light  which  still  reigned  within, 
she  could  discern  the  fomi  of  the  widow  extended  on 
a  low  pallet,  and  apparently  lifeless.  In  a  second, 
and  without  a  thought  of  self,  Madeleine  drew  a  flask 
of  wine  from  her  basket  which  she  had  carried  through 
so  much  danger,  and  hastily  applied  it  to  the  mouth 
of  the  widow,  from  whose  form  she  perceived  that 
life  had  not  yet  fled.  When  she  had  succeeded  with 
some  difiiculty  in  pouring  a  few  mouthfuls  down  her 
throat,  she  began  chafing  her  frozen  limbs  until  she 
had  restored  to  them  a  certain  degree  of  animal  heat. 
As  soon  as  this  was  effected,  she  struck  a  light  from 
the  flint  she  had  prudently  brought  with  her,  and 
applied  it  to  a  few  faggots  which  she  threw  in  the 
chimney.  In  less  than  a  second  a  cheerful  blaze 
sprung  u])  from  the  hearth  and  filled  the  cabin  with 
its  genial  glow.  Madeleine's  first  look  was  for  the 
sick  woman,  who  now  seemed  to  be  slowly  reviving. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


As  her  dim  and  glazed  eyes  recovered  the  powei 
of  sight,  the  widow  looked  around  her  like  one  awa- 
kening from  a  long  and  deep  slumber  ;  but  when  her 
glance  fell  upon  the  form  of  Madeleine,  she  started 


40  MADELEINE, 


slightly,  and,  raising  herself  by  an  efibrt  on  her  elbow 
e;azed  on  her  visitor  with  evident  astonishment, 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  she  at  length  exclaimed,  in  a  low 
and  hollow  tone. 

"  My  name  is  Madeleine  Guerin,  and  I  am  come 
to  see  yon,"  calmly  replied  the  young  girl.  The 
widow  passed  her  hand  across  her  brow,  as  though 
striving  to  collect  her  thoughts. 

"I  have  been  dreaming,"  she  said  abstractedly; 
"  methought  I  was  dying,  and  going  to  be  buried  in 
the  snow." 

"It  has  been  snowing,"  observed  Madeleine ;  "how 
do  you  feel  now  ?" 

"I  am  cold,"  replied  the  sick  woman,  with  a 
shiver. 

Madeleine  immediately  set  about  removing  her, 
with  the  wretched  bed  on  which  she  was  lying,  so 
that  she  might  receive  as  much  of  the  heat  of  the  fire 
as  was  possible.  When  she  had  eflected  her  object 
in  the  most  gentle  manner,  she  began  once  more  to 
cliafe  the  widow's  limbs.  In  less  than  half  an  hour 
the  poor  woman  was  completely  restored,  and,  though 
the  fearful  ravages  which  disease  had  made  upon  her 
frame  were  still  strongly  visible,  she  seemed  now 
quite  sensible.  She  might  be  about  fifty,  but  a  life 
of  toil  and  penury  made  her  look  at  least  twenty 
years  older.  Care  and  grief  had  imprinted  their  deep 
wrinkles  on  her  withered  countenance,  whilst  her 
wasted  cheek  and  sunken  eye  told  of  long  and  linger- 
ing illness.  She  looked  attentively  at  Madeleine,  as 
though  striving  to  recollect  her  features,  and  wonder  • 
ing  who  she  might  be. 

"  Have  you  been  long  here  ?"  she  asked  at  length. 


MADELEINE.  41 


"  Not  much  more  than  an  hour,"  rej^lied  Madeleine. 

"  Ah  !"  said  the  sick  woman,  thoughtfully,  "  I  re- 
member it  now  :  for  two  days  I  watched  the  snow  as 
it  fell ;  I  knew  that  I  was  going  away,  yet  I  found  it 
hard  to  die  here  alone  ;  but  who  was  to  come  near 
me  through  the  snow?  At  last  I  fell  asleejx  Thank 
God,  the  snow  has  ceased !" 

"  It  is  snowing  still,"  said  Madeleine. 

"Then  how  did  you  come?"  asked  the  widow, 
looking  on  her  with  astonishment. 

"  It  was  not  snowing  when  I  left  home." 

"  Well,  but  why  did  you  come  ?"  almost  harshly 
exclaimed  the  sick  woman  ;  "  I  do  not  know  you." 

"  I  knew  that  you  were  ill,"  calmly  replied  Made- 
leine ;  "  and  when  I  saw  that  there  no  longer  came 
any  smoke  from  your  chimney,  I  feared  you  were 
much  worse.  Besides,"  she  added  in  a  melancholy 
tone,  "  there  are  some  in  this  world,  doomed  to  a  life 
of  solitude,  who  can  risk  more  than  others  ;  who  may 
take  on  themselves  tasks  neglected  by  the  happier 
ones  ;  I  am  of  these." 

"  And  so  you  came  through  the  snow  to  see  me,  a 
stranger,  whilst  all  in  Mont-Saint-Jean  would  have 
let  me  die  here  alone,"  said  the  Avidow,  in  a  tone 
so  low  and  gentle,  that  Madeleine  looked  up  with 
surprise. 

Without  making  any  direct  reply,  the  young  girl 
merely  asked  her  how  she  felt. 

"  Better,  thank  you." 

"This  is  a  dreary  place,"  observed  Madeleine, 
looking  round  her  ;  "  when  the  snow  has  ceased  you 
must  come  down  the  hill  with  me ;  I  will  give  you  a 
warm  room." 


4:2  MADELEINE 


The  widow  sliook  her  head.  "  I  shall  never  leave 
this  place  alive,"  said  she,  sadly ;  "  I  am  dying." 

"  Dying  !"  exclaimed  Madeleine  ;  "  you  said  you 
were  better." 

"  To  die  is  to  be  better,"  answered  the  widow. 

Madeleine  gazed  on  her  with  pitying  surprise,  for 
there  was  a  bitterness  in  the  tone  of  her  who  spoke 
thus  which  showed  that  the  thought  came  from 
desj)air,  and  not  from  resignation.  "  You  have  suf- 
fered much,"  said  she,  sitting  down  near  her,  and 
drying  her  still  wet  garments  oj^posite  the  fire. 

"  Oh !  you  may  say  that,"  exclaimed  the  woman, 
"  you  may  say  that.  Look  at  me,"  said  she,  throw- 
ing back  the  grizzled  and  matted  locks  which  shaded 
her  haggard  countenance.  "  I  was  once  the  prettiest 
girl  in  all  Mont-Saint-Jean — every  one  said  so.  Well, 
see  me  now ;  and  yet  I  am  not  old." 

"  I  thought  you  were  from  Paris,"  said  Made- 
leine. 

"  Yes,  they  called  me  the  Parisian,  because  when 
I  came  back  no  one  knew  me  ;  yet  I  had  not  beec 
thirty  years  away,  and  I  knew  all  those  whom  I  had 
left  behind  me ;  but  they  had  not  suffered  like  me." 

Madeleine  gazed  on  her  with  silent  pity.  The 
widow  continued  :  "  It  is  little  more  than  twent^^-five 
years  since  I  left  this  place  a  happy  woman,  with  my 
husband  and  my  child.  "VVe  went  to  Paris,  where 
Mathurin  became  a  water-carrier ;  'tis  a  hard  trade 
for  a  woman,  yet  I  assisted  him,  and  every  one  called 
me  still  the  handsome  Jeanne.  "We  worked  from 
morning  till  night,  but  we  were  happy  for  all  that, 
for  we  loved  one  another,  and  our  only  wish  was  to 
put  a  little  money  by  and  come  back  with  it  to  Mont- 


MADELEINE.  43 


Saint-Jean,  Well,  we  worked  so  hard,  that  after  fit' 
teen  years,  we  had  saved  five  thousand  francs." 

"  And  did  you  come  back  then  ?"  asked  Madeleine. 

Jeanne  smiled  bitterly.  "  The  rich  are  hard  of 
heart,"  said  she ;  "  Mathurin  had  confided  our  little 
all  to  a  rich  man  whose  business  it  was  to  take  care 
of  the  money  of  other  people  and  make  it  bring  in 
more.  One  day  that  man  went  oft'  to  another  coun- 
try, taking  away  all  that  did  not  belong  to  him,  and 
our  money  with  the  rest.  From  that  time  I  saw  there 
was  something  at  Mathurin's  heart ;  he  said  little, 
and  worked  as  usual,  for  he  knew  that  if  he  did  not, 
his  three  children  might  starve.  Our  eldest  son,  who 
could  have  assisted  us  now,  had  been  taken  away 
from  us  to  become  a  soldier,  and  only  the  younger 
ones  remained.  But  one  day  he  fell  down  in  the 
street,  like  a  horse  when  the  burden  is  too  heavy  for 
him.  When  they  brought  him  home,  I  saw  in  his 
eye  that  he  could  not  live ;  he  knew  as  much  himself, 
for  he  said  to  me,  '  Jeanne,  I  shall  never  see  Mont- 
Saint-Jean  again !'  and  he  heaved  such  a  sigh,  that  I 
knew,  for  all  the  doctor  could  tell  me,  his  heart  was 
broken  at  that  very  hour.  He  never  uttered  another 
word,  and  died  the  next  morning." 

"  Alas  !"  sorrowfully  said  Madeleine,  "  you  have 
indeed  sufiered  inuch  ;  your  husband's  death  was 
doubtless  a  sad  grief  to  you." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  widow,  in  a  tone  of  singular  bit- 
terness, "  I  grieved  that  he  had  not  died  six  months 
sooner ;  for  then,"  continued  she,  without  noticing 
Madeleine's  look  of  horror,  "  I  should  have  been  a 
widow,  and  they  could  not  have  taken  away  from  me 
my  son,  my  first-born  child." 


44:  MADELEINE. 


"  And  did  they  not  restore  him  to  you  ?"  asked 
Madeleine,  whose  horror  was  now  changed  to  deep 
pity. 

"  Restore  him !"  echoed  Jeanne.  "  ITo,  it  was  easy 
enough  to  take  him  away  from  us,  but  God  alone 
could  now  have  ffiven  him  back :  he  was  killed  in 
battle  the  clay  before  his  father's  death.  The  people 
all  said  there  was  a  great  victory  won,  and  I  recollect 
that  on  the  evening  of  Mathurin's  burial  the  city  was 
lit  up,  and  there  were  great  rejoicings.  God  foi'give 
me  for  it,  but  when  I  saw  how  happy  the  people 
looked  who  passed  by,  as  though  a  victory  were  such 
a  glorious  thing,  I  almost  wished,  in  the  bitterness 
of  my  heart,  that  they  had  lost  a  son  like  me ;  where 
;vould  have  been  their  gayety  then  ?" 

"  jSTay,"  gravely  said  Madeleine,  "  that  was  a  sin- 
ful wish." 

"  Why  then  did  they  mock  me  with  their  mirth, 
their  fireworks,  and  their  rejoicings  ?"  fiercely  ex- 
claimed the  widow.  "  He  had  not  asked  to  become 
a  soldier;  but  they  took  him  away  from  his  peaceful 
and  honest  calling — to  kill  him !" 

"  That  is,  indeed,  a  hard  law  which  sends  men  to 
death,"  sadly  rejoined  Madeleine,  "  but  I  have  heard 
tliat  conscripts  can  be  bought  ofl"  with  money." 

"  Yes,"  gloomily  replied  the  widow,  "  the  rich  can 
give  gold,  but  the  poor  must  give  the  flesh  and  blood 
of  their  children."* 

There  was  a  fierce  energy  in  thvi  tone  of  this 
woman  who  had  suffered  so  much,  which  startled  the 
quiet  and  thoughtful  Madeleine.     With  a  feeling  ol 

*  Tlic  new  French  constit'ition  will  no  longer  allow  this  iniquHoua 
distinction ;  rich  and  poor  must  alike  take  the  chance  of  war. 


MADELEINE.  45 


sad  siu'prise  she  began  to  understand  tlie  deep  wretch- 
edness daily  endured  by  thousands  in  a  h\rge  city. 
She  remained  a  while  wra|)ped  in  silent  thought,  and 
then  observed — 

"  "What  did  you  do  after  your  husband's  death  ?" 

"  I  worked :  ay,  the  very  day  he  was  buried  1 
worked ;  the  poor  have  no  time  for  idle  sorrow." 

"And  did  you  succeed  in  earning  a  liveli- 
hood?" 

"  Yes,  if  to  be  half-starved  is  to  live.  Yet  God 
knows  there  was  nothing  I  did  not  try  to  do ;  but 
what  are  a  woman's  earnings  ?  and  I  had  three  chil- 
dren. I  was  now  too  weak  and  broken  down  to  carry 
water  ;  no  one  called  me  any  longer  the  handsome 
Jeanne.  I  stayed  at  home  and  did  a  little  needle- 
work ;  I  washed,  I  ironed,  I  did  every  thing  that  could 
give  us  bread,  and  yet  we  never  had  enough.  Eight 
weary  years  passed  away;  two  of  my  children  died, 
and  I  believe  in  my  heart  that  misery  killed  them. 
Though  sorely  grieved,  I  thought  I  might  now  be 
more  at  ease,  and  earn  at  least  enough  for  myself  and 
my  remaining  child ;  but  long  toil  had  taken  all  my 
strength  away  :  I  fell  ill  and  could  not  work,  and  3^et 
I  was  hungry.  Some  poor  peoj^le  who  lived  in  the 
house  were  very  kind  to  me,  but  their  kindness  was 
a  weight  to  my  soul ;  for,  though  the  bread  they  gave 
me  prevented  me  and  my  child  from  starving,  I  knew 
that  every  morsel  was  taken  from  the  mouths  of  their 
own  children.  A  rich  lady  at  length  heard  of  my 
miserable  state  and  came  to  see  me,  bringing  me 
money  and  food,  so  that  for  some  time,  at  least,  star- 
vation was  kept  away." 

"  How  grateful  you  must  'have  felt !"  said  Made- 


46  MADELEINE. 


leiue,  whose  heart  -wiirmed  towards  the  benevolent 
lady  as  she  spoke. 

"  Grateful !"  harshly  exclaimed  the  widow,  "  and 
for  what  ?  because  she  e;ave  me  food  1  Had  not  my 
child  and  I  as  good  a  right  to  eat  our  daily  bread  as 
she  had  ?  and  had  I  not  earned  that  bread  until  then 
by  the  sweat  of  my  brow,  whilst  she  lived  in  luxury 
and  idleness?  No,  no,  Madeleine,  I  did  not  feel 
grateful,  and,  though  she  was  kind,  yet  in  my  heart 
I  hated  and  I  envied  her." 

Madeleine  was  struck  with  dismay  at  this  display 
of  a  bad  and  malignant  feeling,  of  which  she  coukl 
not  until  then  have  suspected  the  existence ;  she  did 
not  know  all  that  misery  will  produce  in  the  human 
heart.  The  widow  doubtless  read  her  thoughts  on 
her  expressive  countenance,  for  she  observed  in  a 
bitter  tone — 

"  I  know  what  you  think ;  you  mean  to  say,  like 
the  rich,  that  were  you  to  give  ever  so  mucli  to  the 
poor  still  they  would  not  be  satisfied,  that  they  are 
a  thankless  race ;  but  I  tell  you,  Madeleine,  that  it  is 
the  rich  who  are  hard-liearted.  What  do  you  think 
that  rich,  kind  lady  said  to  me  when  I  complained  of 
the  toil  which  had  witliered  my  youth  before  my 
time  ?  She  told  me  that  toil  was  the  curse  which  God 
had  laid  upon  xldam  and  his  children  !  I  could 
have  laughed  to  hear  her  speak  so  ;  there  she  stood 
before  me  clothed  in  rich  silks,  and  with  rings  on  her 
fingers,  one  of  which  could  have  saved  me  and  mine 
from  all  the  miserj^  we  had  endm'ed.  It  came  to  my 
lips  to  ask  her  wliat  toil  had  been  hers  during  the 
whole  of  her  idle  life ;  to  know  whether  the  cmvse 
was  only  for  tlie  poor';     whether  they  alone   were 


MADELEINE.  47 


descended  from  Adam  ;  but  I  thought  that  if  1 
offended  her  she  wouki  give  ns  nothing,  and  I  was 
silent." 

There  was  something  in  this  speech,  notwithstand- 
ing the  selfish  feelings  it  displayed,  and  the  fierce 
tone  of  the  widow,  which  came  home  to  Madeleine's 
heart  with  a  sense  of  truth ;  she  looked  up  to  Jeanne 
and  said  earnestly — 

"  You  are  right ;  God  never  placed  us  upon  this 
earth  that  we  might  starve ;  there  must  be  something 
wrong." 

"  I  know  it,"  replied  the  widow,  "  yet  it  was  a 
long  time  before  I  found  it  out ;  but  sufi'erinoj  tauo-ht 
me  many  things,  and  that  amongst  the  rest.  How 
often  have  I  sat  alone  in  my  garret,  faint  with  fast- 
ing, thinking  of  the  rich  corn  which  covered  the 
earth,  of  the  flocks  that  fed  upon  the  hills,  of  the 
sunny  fruit  that  grew  in  the  valleys,  until  I  asked 
myself  why  I  and  my  child  had  not  a  share  of  those 
good  things  which  God  had  meant  for  all  his  crea- 
tures. Oh  !  Madeleine,  it  stirred  bitterness  in  my 
heart  to  think  of  the  malice  of  man !  I  have  told 
you  many  of  my  sorrows,  but  the  last  and  deepest  I 
have  not  told.  It  was  when  the  rich  lady  was  gone 
from  Paris.  I  was  recovering,  and  she  left  me  some 
money ;  but  before  it  was  all  spent  I  tried  to  work 
again  in  order  to  save  it.  ^7ould  to  God  I  had  not 
done  so !  I  soon  grew  worse  than  befoi'e ;  our  money 
only  lasted  a  little  while,  and  we  were  more  wretched 
than  ever — we  were  starving !  AYhat  would  you  do, 
Madeleine,  if  that  was  your  case  ?"  she  added  with 
startling  suddenness,  and  riveting  her  glassy  eyes  on 
the  young  girPs  countenance. 


4S  MADELEINE. 


"What  would  I  do?"  eclioed  Madeleine;  "I 
should  work,  or,  if  I  could  not,  pray." 

"  You  would  not  steal  ?"  asked  the  widow. 

"  God  forbid  !"  cried  Madeleine,  aghast  at  the  mere 
idea  ;  "  did  you  steal,  Jeanne?" 

"  'No,  but  she  did." 

"Who  did?" 

"  My  child,  Mathurine — I  had  called  her  so  for  the 
sake  of  her  father ;  she  was  then  about  nine  years 
old  ;  poor  child,  one  day  she  felt  hungry,  and  took  a 
loaf  from  a  baker's  shop  ;  she  was  caught  in  the  act, 
and  led  before  a  magistrate,  who  told  her  how  sinful 
in  the  poor  it  was  to  steal.  '  But  if  you  were  hungry, 
sir,  would  you  not  wish  to  eat  ?'  said  Mathurine,  and 
a  woman  who  was  there  told  me  that  the  magistrate 
remained  dumb,  and  could  make  her  no  answer.  He 
said  the  child  was  too  young  to  be  punished,  and  so 
she  was  brought  back  to  me.  The  baker  told  me 
how  sorry  he  felt  to  have  made  all  this  stir,  but  he 
did  not  know  the  child  was  really  hungry.  He  was 
a  good  man,  and  though  y>ooy  himself,  he  sent  us  from 
that  time  a  loaf  every  week.  Oh,  how  my  heart 
yearned  towards  that  man  !" 

"  And  did  Mathurine  steal  again  ?"  asked  Made- 
leine. 

"  ISTo,"  answered  the  widow,  in  a  tone  which  made 
tlie  young  girl's  heart  sink  within  her  ;  "  she  died  !" 

"  Oh  !  it  was  a  hard,  a  bitter  trial,"  she  continued 
after  a  short  pause.  "  I  had  loved  her  more  tlian 
aught  else  on  earth  ;  and,  God  forgive  me  for  the  sin, 
but  when  any  of  my  other  children  died  I  was  glad 
with  all  my  sorrow  that  it  was  not  she.  When  eveiy 
tiling  was  over,  a  doctor  came  to  learn,  as  he  said, 


MADELEINE.  49 


the  cause  of  her  death  ;  he  told  me  it  was  consump- 
tion, for  he  could  always  give  names  to  the  illnesses 
of  my  children  ;  but  I  knew  that  they  had  been  kill- 
ed by  one  disease,  and  that  was  hunger.  For  two 
days  I  sat  by  the  body  of  my  child,  for,  though  I  was 
aware  that  she  was  truly  dead,  I  did  not  wish  to  be- 
lieve it.  People  came  in  and  out  of  the  room,  and 
pitied  my  sorrow,  yet  they  all  agreed  that  the  poor 
child's  death  was  a  relief  and  a  mercy  of  God.  I 
heard  them  and  said  nothing  ;  but  when  I  looked  on 
the  stiff,  cold  corpse  of  my  Mathurine,  and  remem- 
bered the  gay,  merry  thing  she  had  been,  I  could  not 
think  it  a  mercy  that  she  was  dead.  About  that  time 
a  great  lady  in  the  neighborhood  lost  her  little  boy  ; 
they  said  that  grief  nearly  made  her  mad,  and  I  pit- 
ied her.  But  when  I  heard  those  who  had  told  me 
it  was  a  mercy  for  Mathurine  to  be  taken  away,  de- 
clare that  the  lady's  misfortune  was  great,  and  that 
the  hand  of  God  was  heavy  upon  her,  then  my  heart 
sickened  within  me,  and  I  thought  I  would  come 
home  here  to  die." 

"  God  help  thee,  poor  creature,"  said  Madeleine, 
with  deep  pity ;  "  thou  hast  indeed  suifered  much." 

"  I  suffered  still  more  when  I  came  back.  It  broke 
my  heart  to  see  again  the  place  where  I  had  been  so 
happy,  and  which  I  had  left  with  my  husband,  think- 
ing then  to  return  a  rich  woman  with  a  house  and 
lands  of  my  own,  but  where  I  now  appeared  a  poor 
and  lonely  wanderer." 

These  worldly  thoughts  grated  on  Madeleine's 
spirit.  "  "What !"  said  she  meekly,  but  in  a  tone  of 
Bm*prise,  "  you  wished  to  become  rich  ?" 

"  And    why    not  V     harshly    asked    the   widow. 

3 


50  MADELEINE 


"  Why  should  I  not  wish  to  become  rich  like  every 
one?" 

"  You  say  that  the  rich  are  all  hard  of  heart  ?" 

"  So  they  are.  But,  though  I  should  become  hard 
to  the  poor  like  them,  is  that  a  reason  why  I  should 
not  seek  to  enjoy  all  their  comforts  ?  "What  should 
'I  then  care  for  the  poor  ?" 

"  I^ay,  this  is  wrong,  very  wrong,"  sorrowfully  said 
Madeleine,  "  and  I  know  that  you  think  not  as  you 
speak," 

"  You  are  right,  I  do  not,"  replied  the  widow ; 
"  but  my  heart  is  changed  from  what  it  was  once. 
"What  has  the  world  done  for  me  that  I  should  love 
it  ?  It  has  let  me  live.  Why  was  I  starving  ?  Why 
did  I  see  my  children  die  from  hunger,  when  others 
had  more  wealth  than  they  could  spend  ?  I  once  said 
to  a  pious  man  that  it  seemed  to  my  poor  judgment 
the  world  would  be  better  arranged  if  all  human  crea- 
tures shared  in  its  wealth  alike,  and  there  were  nei- 
ther rich  nor  poor.  He  told  me  my  wish  was  a  sin- 
ful one  ;  that  it  was  flying  in  the  face  of  God's  will 
and  the  order  of  his  providence.  I  asked  him  if  it 
was  the  will  of  God  that  I  should  starve,  or  in  the 
order  of  his  providence  that  I  should  commit  some  sin 
in  order  to  be  able  to  live  ?  He  could  not  answer  me. 
Oh  !  Madeleine,  think  how  bad  and  cruel  the  world 
must  be  when  good  and  pious  men  will  say  such 
things !" 

"  Well,  but  what  is  to  be  done?"  asked  Madeleine, 
sorely  puzzled. 

"  I  know  not,"  abruptly  answered  the  widow;  "I 
am  a  poor,  ignorant  woman  :  how  should  I  ?  But 
there  are  wise  men  in  the  land  paid  to  find  out  every 


MADELEINE.  51 


thing  ;  let  them  find  out  that."  And,  with  a  smile  of 
unutterable  bitterness,  she  sank  back  on  her  pallet, 
exhausted  bj  the  exertions  of  the  last  half  hour. 

Madeleine  pressed  her  to  take  some  refi-eshment, 
but  she  refused  ;  she  could  not  eat,  she  said,  and  the 
only  beverage  she  would  taste  was  a  little  wine  dilu- 
ted with  water.  This  seemed  to  cool  the  fever  within 
her,  and  in  a  short  time  she  sank  into  a  deep  sleep. 

Madeleine  sat  by  her  bedside  wrapped  in  a  thought- 
ful and  melancholy  mood.  The  sick  woman's  narra- 
tive had  made  a  deep  impression  upon  her  mind  :  it 
had  shown  her  that,  though  in  villages  like  Mont- 
Saint-Jean  there  might  reign  a  certain  equality,  that 
is  to  say,  that  all  were  poor,  though  some  might  be 
poorer  than  the  rest,  yet  in  that  other  world,  of  which 
she  knew  nothing,  the  case  was  diiferent ;  for  there 
lived  the  luxurious  rich  and  the  starving  poor  side  by 
side,  and  often  beneath  the  same  roof.  "  Has  God, 
then,  made  some  of  his  creatures  merely  to  suffer  ?" 
sorrowfully  thought  Madeleine.  But  she  immedi- 
ately discarded  the  idea  as  a  blasphemy.  "  It  can- 
not be,"  she  earnestly  repeated  to  herself,  "  it  cannot 
be ;  God  is  all  goodness  ;  the  fault  must  be  with 
man ;  He  will  take  his  own  time  to  alter  this,  and 
perhaps  inspire  one  of  those  wise  men  of  whom  Jeanne 
spoke  with  the  means  of  relieving  the  suffering  poor." 
As  she  dwelt  upon  it,  this  idea  strengthened  itself  in 
Madeleine's  mind  :  her  perfect  faith  banished  the 
doubt  which,  for  the  first  time  perhaps,  had  entered 
there.  The  cloud  passed  away  from  her  spirit,  and,  in 
her  renewed  confidence,  she  wondered  how  she  could 
have  mistrusted  the  power  and  goodness  of  God. 


52  MADELEINE 


CHAPTER  y. 

The  next  day  found  the  widow  mucli  more  com- 
posed  and  also  mucli  weo.ker.  The  snow  had  ceased, 
but  the  weather  was  still  cloudy  and  overcast,  and 
the  sick  woman  complained  of  cold,  though  her  bed 
lay  near  the  fire,  which  Madeleine  supplied  plentifully 
from  the  faggots  sent  by  the  curate.  Jeanne  looked 
upon  her  with  a  grateful  glance,  and  often  urged  her 
to  take  some  food,  or  at  all  events  to  rest  a  while  ;  for 
whenever  she  had  chanced  to  wake  in  the  night  she 
had  seen  Madeleine  sitting  by  her  bedside,  watching 
her  troubled  slumbers  and  telling  her  rosary. 

Madeleine,  who  was  somewhat  surj^rised  at  the 
change  in  her  tone  and  manners,  felt  still  more  aston- 
ished when  the  sick  woman  observed,  in  a  low  and 
subdued  voice, 

"  Madeleine,  you  must  forgive  me  all  the  mad  and 
sinful  things  which  I  said  yesterday  ;  but,  God  hel}) 
me,  I  have  suffered  much,  and  at  times  I  have 
thought  I  should  go  mad.  You  see,  Madeleine,  there 
are  some  who  can  suffer  quietly  ;  who  can  feel  their 
hearts  break  within  them  :  ay,  who  can  die,  without 
uttering  a  word.  But  I  was  never  of  these  ;  I  could 
not  bid  my  grief  be  silent ;  and  when  I  was  starving, 
I  felt  that  life  was  still  too  strong  within  me  to  be 
given  up  without  a  murmur.  It  was  only  when  my 
sorrow  was  too  great  for  utterance  that  I  did  not  com- 
plain ;  and  then  people  thought  me  resigned.  Yes- 
terday I  dare  say  I  said  that  which  was  wrong  ;  and 


MADELEINE.  53 


jet  who  can  tell?    To-day  at  least  I  have  a  more 
Christian  feeling,  and  I  can  forgive  the  rich." 

This  woman  talked  so  boldly  of  forgiveness  and  of 
her  wi'ongs,  that  Madeleine  began  to  think  that  she 
might  be  justified  in  doing  so  ;  that  she  might  have 
the  right  of  forgiving  those  who  had  let  her  and  her 
children  die  of  want ;  and  that  they  had  wronged 
her,  though  perchance  they  knew  not  of  her  exist- 
ence :  still  she  was  glad  to  mark  her  altered  frame  of 
mind,  and  she  said  so. 

The  widow  smiled  sadly  :  "  Why,  you  see,  Made- 
leine," said  she,  "  it  behooves  the  dying  to  forgive 
every  thing." 

"  Dying !"  exclaimed  Madeleine  ;  "  nay,  Jeanne, 
you  look  better  than  yesterday." 

"  Yes ;  but  my  pulse  is  low,  and  I  can  scarcely 
feel  the  beating  of  my  heart.  Madeleine,  I  have 
learned  to  know  the  signs  of  death  from  those  I  most 
loved  on  earth." 

Madeleine  said  nothing;  but  as  she  marked  the 
sharp,  pinched  features  of  the  sick  woman,  her  thin 
lips,  cold  glassy  eyes,  and  low  altered  voice,  she 
could  not  help  thinking  that  she  had  said  the  truth, 
and  was  indeed  drawing  near  her  last  hour. 

"  Madeleine,"  said  Jeanne,  after  a  short  silence, 
"  I  am  not  afraid  to  die,  yet  I  am  sad ;  I  know  not 
why.  Yesterday  you  appeared  to  me  like  one  near 
whom  grief  could  not  come ;  have  you  never  known 
sorrow  T' 

"  I  have,"  calmly  said  Madeleine,  "  I  have  known 
deep  sorrows,  but  God  always  seemed  to  make  them 
pass  away  from  my  spirit  like  the  dark  clouds  fron) 
heaven." 


54  MADELEINE, 


"  But  why  are  you  happy  ?"  urged  the  sick  woman. 

"  Because  God  is  good,"  answered  the  young  girl. 

"  Ah  !  why  then  did  he  let  my  children  die?"  sor- 
rowfully asked  Jeanne. 

"  You  say  that  this  is  a  sad  world ;  perhaps  it  was 
to  spare  them  the  grief  and  misery  which  are  in  it  " 

"  But  why  has  God  made  the  world  sad  ?"  said  the 
widow,  looking  wistfully  at  Madeleine. 

"  Alas !  I  know  not,"  answered  she,  shaking  her 
head  doubtfully,  for  this  was  a  question  to  which  her 
philosophy  suggested  no  rej)ly. 

The  sick  woman  tossed  restlessly  about  upon  her 
couch,  and  Madeleine  seemed  lost  in  deep  thought. 

"  Madeleine,"  at  length  said  Jeanne,  "  tell  me 
something  that  may  comfort  me,  for  my  heart  sinks 
within  me." 

"  "What  can  I  tell  you  ?"  gently  asked  Madeleine. 

"  Tell  me  that  God  is  good,  though  this  world  is 
so  hard  to  the  poor ;  and  that  he  loves  them  though 
he  lets  them  suffer." 

"  And  do  you  then  doubt  the  goodness  of  God  ? 
do  you  think  that  he  forsakes  the  poor  ?"  sorrowfully 
asked  Madeleine.  "  Did  he  not  send  his  Son  on  earth 
to  suffer  with  them  {  and  did  he  not  say,  '  Blessed 
are  they  that  weep,  for  they  shall  be  comforted  V  " 

"  Say  that  again,"  eagerly  exclaimed  Jeanne,  "  it 
does  my  soul  good  to  hear  you :  say  that  again." 
Madeleine  did  so.  "  And  yet,"  continued  the  widow, 
"  why  does  he  let  them  suffer  and  weep  ?" 

"  Alas !  I  know  not,"  again  sadly  replied  Made 
leine;  "  I  wish  I  knew,  that  I  might  tell  you:  but 
oh  !  Jeanne,  whatever  you  say  of  tho  world  and  the 
rich,  do  not,  oh !  do  not  doubt  the  goodness  of  God." 


MADELEINE,  55 


Madeleine  had  uttered  these  words  m  an  earnest 
and  solemn  tone  :  and  as  she  stood  hy  that  bed  oi 
the  dying,  with  her  hands  clasi3ed,  and  her  eyes 
raised  to  heaven  in  the  intensity  of  her  feeling,  dis- 
carding those  vain  and  worn-ont  arguments  which 
prove  nothing,  but  full  of  trust  in  that  inward  voice 
which  never  yet  deceived  the  heart  of  man  when  he 
listened  to  it  sincerely,  she  looked  the  picture  of  liv- 
ing faith — of  that  faith  which  is  strong  within  its  own 
strength,  and  turns  to  heaven  without  earthly  alloy. 

"I  believe  you,"  said  the  widow  earnestly,  and 
raising  herself  on  her  elbow  to  look  at  Madeleine ; 
"  you  would  not  say  so  if  you  did  not  think  it  was 
true ;  I  believe  you."  And  she  sank  down  once  more 
upon  her  couch,  closing  her  eyes  as  though  she  wished 
to  sleep.  Madeleine  took  a  seat  near  her  bed,  and 
fell  into  a  deep  fit  of  musing.  A  quarter  of  an  hour 
had  scarcely  elapsed  when  the  sick  woman  opened 
her  eyes  ;  she  had  not  been  asleep,  but  thinking. 

"  Madeleine,"  said  she  abruptly,  "  do  you  knov>^ 
what  makes  me  believe  most  in  the  goodness  of  God  ?" 

"ISTo,"  said  Madeleine,  looking  up,  "  what  is  it?" 

"  It  is  that  in  all  my  troubles  I  found  some  of  his 
creatures  willing  to  help  me.  Those  peoj^le  who 
gave  me  food  when  I  was  ill  were  very  j)oor :  the 
baker  too  was  poor,  and  yet  he  gave  me  bread  ;  and 
you,  Madeleine,  did  you  not  come  through  the  snow 
that  I  might  not  die  alone  ?  Ah !  if  there  is  still  so 
much  goodness  in  this  wicked  world,  how  good  must 
Hebe!" 

Madeleine  made  no  reply ;  no  argument  Wiis  needed 
to  impress  her  with  the  goodness  of  God ;  and  the 
widow,  whose  hands  were  clasped  as  though  in  prayer, 


56  MADELEINE. 


did  not  seem  to  i-equire  an  answer ;  her  eyes  closed 
once  more,  and  by  her  breathing  Madeleine  soon 
ascertained  that  she  was  now  sleeping.  The  yonng 
girl  then  took  her  missal,  which  she  had  brought 
with  her,  and  began  reading  in  a  low  tone  the  prayers 
appointed  for  the  sick. 

The  widow  slept  for  several  hours.  It  was  night 
when  she  awoke,  and  there  was  no  other  light  in  the 
cottage  save  that  afforded  by  the  fire,  which  still 
burned  brightly  on  the  hearth.  When  she  opened 
her  eyes  and  spoke  to  Madeleine,  the  young  girl 
perceived  that  her  life  was  ebbing  fast  away ;  for  her 
words  came  incoherently  forth,  and  her  eyes  were 
glazed  and  dim.  She  also  complained  of  cold  ;  and 
though  Madeleine  chafed  her  limbs  assiduously,  it 
it  seemed  as  though  nothing  could  dispel  their  icy 
chillness.  The  sick  woman  thanked  her  by  a  glance 
full  of  gratitude,  but  she  signed  her  to  desist  from 
her  useless  efforts. 

"  Do  you  not  feel  warmer  now  ?"  asked  Made- 
leine. 

"  I  see  that  you  are  rubbing  my  feet,  but  I  do  not 
feel  you  doing  so,"  answered  Jeanne,  feebly :  "  it  is 
all  of  no  use,  Madeleine,  my  hour  is  come.  What 
time  is  it  ?"  she  asked,  after  a  pause. 

"  It  has  been  night  for  some  time ;  it  must  be  now 
about  six." 

"  How  is  the  weather?" 

"  It  is  snowing:  ac-ain." 

"  Oh  !  my  God,  my  God,"  anxiously  nnittered  Je- 
anne. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?"  gently  asked  Madeleine. 

"  Oh  !  I  am  thinking  that  I  am  going  to  die.     I 


5IADELEINE.  57 


know  that  I  cannot  live  beyond  this  night ;  and  that 
if  this  snow  lasts  yon  will  perhaps  be  shut  up  here  with 
ray  dead  body ;  that  would  be  dreadful,  Madeleine." 

"There  is  no  fear  of  the  cottage  being  blocked 
up,"  answered  Madeleine,  "  for  the  wind  drives  the 
snow  from  it." 

This  assurance  comforted  Jeanne  for  a  moment, 
but,  with  that  restlessness  peculiar  to  the  sick,  she 
asked  the  next  minute  if  it  were  snowincr  still. 

"  Yes,  but  the  snow  is  very  thin,"  answered  Made- 
leine. 

"  Well,  but  the  road  will  perhaps  be  too  bad  for 
you  to  go  down,"  said  the  widow,  "  and  you  will  die 
of  cold  and  hunger  up  here." 

"  I  have  still  provisions  in  my  basket  for  several 
days,  and  the  people  of  Mont-Saint-Jean  will  know 
that  when  the  smoke  ceases  something  has  happened 
to  me." 

"  Will  you  not  be  afraid  ?" 

"  Afraid  of  what  V  simply  asked  Madeleine. 

"  Of  remaining  alone  with  a  corpse,"  sadly  an- 
swered the  widow. 

"  'No,  why  should  I  fear  ?  I  know  that  even  if  you 
could  hurt  me  you  would'not." 

"You  are  right,  I  would  not ;  and  when  my  poor 
husband  and  my  children  died  I  never  felt  afraid  of 
them." 

"  Well,  then,  I  shall  not  fear  you,"  said  Madeleine. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  she  added,  as  Jeanne, 
whose  glance  was  fixed  upon  the  wall,  seemed  to  be 
clasing  something  away  from  her  bedside  with  her 
hands.  She  made  no  reply,  and  Madeleine  renewed 
her  question. 

3- 


58  MADELEINE. 


"  I  know  not  how  it  is,"  said  the  widow,  in  a  faintj 
low  tone,  "  a  while  ago  I  seemed  to  tbink  it  a  relief 
to  die,  but  now  I  am  afraid.  Where  do  we  go  when 
we  die  ?" 

"  To  heaven,"  devoutly  said  Madeleine,  to  whose 
mind  the  idea  of  any  other  place  had  never  perhaps 
seriously  offered  itself. 

"  Oh  !  heaven  must  be  a  long  way  from  earth," 
exclaimed  Jeanne,  in  a  wearied  tone,  and  like  one 
whose  head  sinks  from  the  prospect  of  a  long  and 
tedious  journey  ;  "  but  my  time  is  come,  and  I  must 
go ;  I  should  have  wished  to  have  confessed  my  sins 
to  a  priest  before  I  died,  yet  God's  will  be  done. 
There  is  not  much  that  lies  heavy  on  my  soul  since 
T  last  received  absolution  ;  still  I  wish  the  cure  were 
here  to  speak  to  me,  for  oh !  my  soul,  it  is  faint  and 
sick  at  the  thousrht  of  death." 

''  I  cannot  talk  to  you  like  the  cure^''  said  Made- 
leine, meekly,  "  but  I  have  my  prayer-book  here ; 
will  it  comfort  you  if  I  read  something  out  of  it  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  do,"  almost  eagerly  exclaimed  the  dying 
woman,  "  read  me  the  litanies  for  the  dvinc; ;  it  will 
do  my  soul  good  in  this  last  struggle." 

Madeleine  knelt  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and,  open- 
ing her  prayer-book  at  the  litanies,  whicli,  according 
to  the  Roman  ritual,  form  j)art  of  the  recommenda- 
tion of  a  departing  soul,  she  read  them  in  a  slow  and 
solemn  tone,  whilst  the  voice  of  Jeanne  faintly  uttered 
the  responses. 

AVhen  the  litanies  were  ended,  Madeleine  gazed  on 
the  face  of  the  sick  woman  ;  she  saw  that  her  glance 
was  fixed  and  dim,  and  that  her  spirit  was  nearly 
departing.     She  then  rose,  and  in  a  low,  tremulous 


MADELEINE.  59 


tone  read  the  following  beautiful  adjui-ation  ;  "  Go 
forth,  thou  Christian  soul,  out  of  this  world,  iu  the 
name  of  God  the  Father  Almighty,  who  created 
thee  :  in  the  name  of  Jesus  Christ,  the  Son  of  the 
living  God,  who  suffered  for  thee  :  in  the  name  of  the 
Holy  Ghost,  who  sanctified  thee  :  in  the  name  of  the 
Angels,  Archangels,  Thrones,  and  Dominations,  Cher- 
ubim and  SerajDhim :  in  the  name  of  the  Patriarchs 
and  Prophets,  of  the  Holy  Apostles  and  Evangelists, 
of  the  holy  Martyrs,  Confessors,  Monks,  and  Hermits, 
of  the  Holy  Yirgins,  and  of  all  the  Saints  of  God : 
may  thy  place  be  this  day  in  j^eace,  and  thy  abode 
in  Holy  Sion.     Through  Christ  our  Lord." 

Madeleine  paused  ;  no  voice  responded  Amen  ;  a 
strange  stillness  pervaded  the  room  ;  she  listened,  but 
all  was  silent.  At  last  she  looked  towards  the  bed  ; 
she  was  alone  ;  the  spirit  had  fled,  and  naught  save 
the  mortal  clay  was  there. 

For  a  few  seconds  Madeleine  gazed  with  silent  and 
involuntary  awe  on  the  face  of  the  dead,  then  she 
sank  on  her  knees,  and  prayed  fervently  for  the  soul 
that  had  left  its  earthly  home.  And  thus  she  passed 
away  the  night  in  vigil  and  prayer,  whilst  the  fire 
burned  dimly  on  the  hearth,  and  the  snow  drifted  by 
the  cottage  window. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Makie  Michon's  grief  on  seeing  Madeleine  dej)art, 
in  Bpite  of  her  entreaties,  on  her  dangerous  errand  of 
love,  had  been  in  proportion  to  the  afiection  she  bore 


60  MADELEINE 


her.  But  when  she  found  herself  alone  other  thoughts 
came  to  her  mind  ;  she  felt  afraid,  she  knew  not  ol 
what,  though  the  neighborhood  of  the  old  cemetery 
certainly  did  not  tend  to  increase  her  sense  of  secu- 
rity. Marie  was  naturally  superstitious,  and  her 
education  had  rendered  her  still  more  so ;  the  thought 
of  remaining  alone,  near  the  abodes  of  the  dead,  filled 
her  with  inward  terror ;  and,  as  the  snow  had  ceased 
to  fall,  she  soon  resolved  on  leaving  Madeleine's  cot 
tage  and  returning  to  her  parents. 

She  arrived  at  their  dwellino;  in  safetv,  and  found 
them  mnch  alarmed  by  her  long  absence.  She  soon 
diverted  their  feelings  of  uneasiness  or  surprise  from 
her  own  case  by  relating  to  them  how  Madeleine  had 
gone  to  visit  the  sick  widow,  who  lived  on  the  sum- 
of  the  eastern  hill. 

Tlie  news  spread  rapidly  through  Mont-Saint- 
Jean.  The  astonishment  and  alarm  were  universal, 
for  the  oldest  and  most  experienced  mountaineers  de- 
clared that  it  was  a  miracle  if  Madeleine  escaped,  as 
a  snow-storm  was  coming  on,  the  like  of  which  had 
not  been  seen  for  many  years.  The  event  showed  the 
truth  of  this  prediction,  for  in  the  com'se  of  the  after- 
noon, and  when  it  was  surmised  that  Madeleine 
must  still  be  engaged  in  her  ascent — as  was  the  case 
— the  snow  began  to  fall,  and  soon  became  so  dense 
and  heavy  that  the  widow's  cottage  vanished  in  the 
mist.  It  snowed  dm-ing  the  whole  of  the  day,  and  all 
night  long.  The  greatest  anxiety  prevailed  in  the 
mean  time  concerning  Madeleine's  fate  ;  some  conjec- 
tured that  she  had  been  lost  in  the  snow,  or  had  mis- 
taken her  path  and  fallen  into  one  of  the  deep  ra- 
vines loiown  to  exist  on  the  slope  of  the  hill ;  and 


MADELEINE.  61 


all  agreed  that,  if  she  still  lived,  it  could  only  be 
through  the  most  manifest  intervention  of  Providence 
Marie  Michon  was  in  despair,  and  her  faith  in  the 
truth  of  the  presentiment  which  assured  her  that  she 
should  never  see  her  dear  Madeleine  again  became 
stronger  every  minute. 

The  morning  was  dark  and  cloudy,  the  tnow  had 
ceased,  but,  though  almost  all  the  inhabitants  of  the 
village  assembled  at  an  early  hour  around  the  stone 
cross  which  stood  op^^osite  the  church  of  Mont- 
Saint-Jean — this  spot  being  that  which  commanded 
the  best  view  of  the  eastern  hill — they  could  see 
nothing  yet ;  a  thick  mist  still  intervened  between 
them  and  the  cottage  which  they  so  anxiously  longed 
to  behold.  An  horn'  of  suspense  thus  elapsed ;  at 
length  the  wind  rose,  the  mist  began  to  roll  slowly 
away  from  the  valley  which  lay  between  Mont-Saint- 
Jean  and  the  eastern  hill ;  for  some  time  it  still 
floated  gracefully  around  its  rocky  brow,  but  sud- 
denly, and  as  if  parted  asunder  by  violence,  it 
opened,  disclosing  the  snow-covered  cottage,  which 
rose  in  faint  relief  on  the  white  background  of  the 
hill. 

Marie  Michon,  who  was  standing  on  the  highest 
step  of  the  cross,  now  bent  forward ;  her  strained  eyes 
were  eagerly  fixed  on  the  cottage  for  a  few  seconds, 
then  a  cry  burst  from  her  lips :  "  The  smoke,  the 
smoke !"  she  exclaimed,  clasping  her  hands  together, 
and  sinking  down  on  her  knees  in  a  transport  of  joy. 

A  faint  blue  streak  which  slowly  ascended  from  the 
chimney  of  the  cottage  was  indeed  visible  to  every 
eye.  All  anxiety  was  over  for  the  present ;  the  joy- 
ful news  immediately  spread  through  the  village,  and 


63  MADELEINE. 


M.  Bignon  the  little  cure^  who  bad  been  waiting  foi 
the  result  with  trembling  anxiety  like  the  rest,  hastened 
in  out  of  the  cold  to  convey  the  tidings  to  his  old 
housekeeper.  As  for  Marie  Michon,  she  declared 
repeatedly  that  this  was  her  happiest  day. 

The  mist  which  had  thus  been  dispelled  for  a  mo- 
ment soon  rose  again  from  the  valley,  and  shrouded 
both  the  hill  and  the  cottage  in  its  dim  recesses  ;  but 
as  the  safety  of  Madeleine  was  now  ascertained,  all 
anxiety  ceased  for  the  time  being.  The  next  morn- 
ing, however,  a  crowd,  though  not  so  numerous  as  on 
the  preceding  day,  again  assembled  on  the  Place,  op- 
posite the  church.  Marie  took  her  stand  at  the  foot 
of  the  cross,  where,  notwithstanding  the  intense  cold, 
she  eagerly  waited  until  the  mists  should  melt  away, 
and  the  cottage  be  seen  once  more.  She  was  the  first 
to  perceive  it  when  the  mist  slowly  rolled  away  from 
the  brow  of  the  hill ;  but,  though  the  tall  chimney 
was  fully  as  visible  as  on  the  preceding  day,  no  smoko 
now  issued  from  it.  She  looked  again  and  again,  but 
in  vain  ;  all  those  around  her  were  equally  unfortu- 
nate ;  they  saw  the  chimney,  but  not  even  the  slight- 
est trace  of  smoke.  Marie's  heart  sank  within  her  ; 
her  presentiment  returned  with  all  its  force ;  she  felt 
quite  sure  that  Madeleine  must  be  dead,  that  she  had 
been  frozen  with  the  cold  during  the  night,  and  her 
tears  flowed  fast  as  she  came  to  this  conclusion.  But, 
at  the  very  moment  when  she  declared  that  such  must 
be  the  case,  she  spared  no  entreaties  to  induce  those 
around  her  to  make  an  effort  to  rescue  Madeleine. 
When  she  spoke,  however,  of  the  practicability  ot 
reaching  the  summit  of  the  eastern  hill,  the  old  moim 
taineers  shook  their  heads  doubtfully,  though  tliey  all 


MADELEINE.  63 


agi-eed  "  that  the  girl  who  had  gone  up  there  to  re- 
lieve a  dying  Christian  should  not  be  allowed  to  perish 
without  an  effort  on  their  part  to  save  her." 

"May  heaven  bless  and  reward  you!"  fervently 
exclaimed.  Marie.  "  Shall  I  run  and  fetch  you  what 
you  want  ?" 

"  Thank  you,"  coolly  answered  one  of  the  men  who 
had  offered  themselves  for  this  dangerous  service; 
"  all  that  is  very  well,  of  course,  but  you  need  not  be 
in  such  a  hurry  to  fetch  our  things,  my  good  girl,  we 
shall  not  set  out  for  another  hour  yet." 

"  ]^ot  for  another  hour  !"  exclaimed  Marie  in  a  tone 
of  dismay.  "  Oh  !  blessed  Virgin  !  Madeleine  will 
perhaps  be  dead  by  that  time." 

"  Why  you  see,  Marie,"  calmly  observed  the  man, 
v,ho,  having  more  experience  than  his  comrades,  was 
to  act  as  guide,  "  we  have  all  wives  and  children,  and 
we  cannot  throw  our  lives  madly  away ;  the  sky  is 
getting  darker  and  darker,  and  before  the  hour  is  past 
the  weather  will  either  clear  up  or  there  will  be  an- 
other snow-storm,  worse  than  that  of  before  yester- 
day ;  in  the  first  case  there  is  risk,  but  it  is  such  as 
men  may  brave,  and  we  will  go." 

"  And  if  the  storm  does  come  on  V  anxiously  asked 
Marie. 

"  If  the  storm  does  come  on,"  gravely  replied  the 
peasant,  "  the  will  of  God  must  be  done." 

"  "What  do  you  mean  to  say  ?"  inquired  Marie,  with 
a  sinking  heart. 

"  I  mean  to  say,"  answered  the  mountaineer,  "  that 
it  is  in  heaven  Madeleine  must  put  her  trust,  and  not 
in  the  helj)  of  man." 

"But  what  will  you  do?"  urged  the  young  girl 


G4  MADELEINE, 

"We  will  stay." 

All  indignant  exclamation  rose  to  Marie's  lips,  but 
Blie  repressed  it ;  of  what  use  would  it  have  been  ? 
But  never  bad  an  hour  passed  so  slowly  away  for  her 
as  that  which  now  followed,  and  never  had  she  watched 
with  such  deep  attention  the  state  of  the  weather. 
For  nearly  half  an  hour  it  remained  undecided ;  at 
the  end  of  that  time,  however,  the  sky  became  gradu- 
ally overcast.  Marie  did  not  dare  to  question  the 
men  who  were  smoking  near  her,  but  she  endeavored 
to  read  the  truth  on  their  stolid  countenances.  The 
silence  they  preserved  increased  her  fears ;  for  some 
time  she  hardly  ventured  to  look  at  the  church  clock, 
lest  she  should  find  the  hour  which  had  been  ap- 
pointed nearly  elapsed ;  and  when  it  struck  at  last, 
the  glance  which  she  cast  on  the  lowering  sky  was  so 
full  of  grief  that  one  of  the  men,  taking  pity  on  her 
distress,  observed,  "  You  may  make  your  mind  easy, 
Marie,  there  will  be  no  storm  this  morning." 

"  May  God  be  praised  !"  she  fervently  exclaimed, 
relieved  by  these  few  words  from  all  her  fears. 

The  men  now  lost  no  time  in  preparing  for  their 
exjiedition ;  but  first  one  thing  was  forgotten  just 
when  all  the  rest  were  ready,  and  then  another  again, 
so  that,  though  it  only  lasted  a  few  minutes,  the  whole 
seemed  an  age  to  Marie.  At  length,  however,  and 
to  her  infinite  satisfaction,  the  men  were  all  prej)ared 
and  ready  to  start.  They  had  taken  leave  of  their 
wives  and  children,  and  had,  cap  in  hand,  ofiered  up 
a  brief  prayer  in  the  church  ;  their  brandy  flasks  were 
firmly  fixed  in  their  leathern  belts,  and  they  each  held 
that  long  staif,  the  indispensable  companion  of  the 
mountaineer.     But,  as  the  foremost  man  was  taking 


MADELEINE.  65 


the  steep  path  which  led  to  the  eastern  hill,  Marie 
suddenly  arrested  him  hy  laying  her  hand  npon  his 
arm,  and  observing,  in  a  low  tone,  "  Jean,  what  black 
speck  is  that  which  is  moving  down  the  hill  ?" 

The  man  followed  the  direction  of  her  eye  and, 
after  a  brief  pause,  exclaimed,  "It  is  a  human 
being  1" 

Every  glance  was  now  riveted  on  the  black  speck, 
which  moved  so  slowly  that  many  averred  it  was 
stationary.  Jean  and  Marie,  however,  kept  to  their 
opinion,  which  was  confirmed  by  M.  Bignon  the 
parish  priest,  who,  after  looking  through  his  pocket 
telescope,  declared  that  it  was  a  woman,  and  that  she 
was  coming  down  the  hill. 

"  Is  it  Madeleine,  Sir  ?"  eagerly  asked  Marie. 

"  I  cannot  see  her  features,  but  she  wears  a  gray 
cloak." 

"Then  it  is  her,"  exclaimed  Marie  joyfall3\  But 
as  she  looked  at  the  mountaineers  near  her,  and 
marked  the  ominous  glances  which  they  exchanged, 
she  anxiously  asked  if  there  was  any  danger  for 
Madeleine. 

"There  is,  and  great  danger,"  gravely  answered 
Jean,  "danger  which  we  cannot  prevent,  for  long 
before  we  could  reach  the  peak  where  she  is  now 
Madeleine  will  either  be  amongst  us  in  safety  or 
every  thing  will  be  over."  And,  taking  the  telescope 
from  the  hands  of  the  priest,  the  man  looked  through 
it,  shook  his  head,  and  passed  it  to  his  neighbor. 
After  looking  like  the  rest  and  distinctly  recognizing 
Madeleine,  Marie,  who  felt  as  thougli  it  would  choko 
her  to  utter  a  word,  sat  down  on  the  stone  step  of  tho 
cross,  and  anxiously  watched  the  slow  progress  of  her 


66  MADELEINE. 


friend.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  had  thus  elapsed  when 
the  form  of  Madeleine  was  suddenly  concealed  from 
the  view  of  all  those  on  the  Place  by  a  small  wood  ot 
pines  which  clothed  the  foot  of  the  hill.  The  men 
looked  at  one  another. 

"  Ay,"  said  Jean,  with  a  clouded  brow,  "  now  is 
the  time  for  Madeleine  to  have  a  steady  stej)  and  a 
cool  head." 

"  "Why  so  ?"  asked  Marie,  though  she  understood 
their  meaning  but  too  well. 

"Why!  know  you  not  that  when  she  leaves  the 
wood  she  has  to  cross  the  Black  Hole,  over  a  bridge 
of  rock  not  much  more  than  a  foot  wide,  and  covered 
with  snow  besides.  I  say  it  again,  now  is  the  time 
for  her  to  have  a  steady  stej?  and  a  cool  head." 

Marie  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  If  she  crosses  it  safely,"  continued  Jean,  "  and 
though  it  is  narrow  it  is  not  long,  the  rest  will  be 
mere  child's  play  to  her,  for,  by  the  way  in  which 
she  came  down  the  hill,  she  does  not  seem  one  to  be 
frightened  by  a  stumble  or  a  false  step." 

"  How  long  do  you  think  it  will  take  her  to  be 
here  ?"  asked  Marie,  looking  up. 

"  About  half  an  hour,"  he  answered,  after  a  mo- 
ment's pause ;  "  for  you  see,  though  the  way  she  took 
is  a  dangerous  one,  it  is  also  short ;  and  if  she  is  not 
here  by  that  time,  you  may  conclude  that  all  is  not 
right."' 

Marie  looked  at  the  church  clock ;  it  wanted 
twenty  minutes  to  twelve.  Though  the  hand  moved 
slowly  along,  she  could  not  keep  her  eyes  off  it ;  at 
last  the  hour  struck;  ten  minutes  more  and  Made- 
leine's fate  would  be    known.      Tlie    ten    minutes 


MADELEINE.  67 


passed  away,  yet  no  human  form  appeared  along  the 
steep  path  which  led  from  the  eastern  hill  to  the 
village.  The  poor  girl's  heart  sank  within  her ;  and 
in  every  coimtenance  she  read  the  confirmation  ol 
her  fears.  The  cure^  who  was  pale  with  anxiety, 
now  approached  Jean,  and  observed,  "  I  am  afraid, 
Jean,  something  has  happened  to  this  poor  child." 

"  I  fear  so,  too.  Monsieur  le  Cure ;  but  indeed  it 
was  a  rash  thing  for  her  to  attempt  to  cross  the  Plack 
Hole  over  a  rock  covered  with  snow." 

"What  can  be  done?"  asked  M.  Bimion. 

"  ITothing,  Sir ;  but  we  can,  if  you  like,  go  and  see 
what  has  become  of  her ;  man  can  do  no  more." 

"  Perhaps,"  here  interposed  Marie  in  a  tremulous 
tone,  "  Madeleine  has  only  taken  another  path,  and 
has  no  intention  of  coming  hither  now  ?" 

"ISTay,"  said  Jean,  shaking  his  head  in  tokei.  of 
dissent,  "  this  cannot  be.  Knowest  thou  not,  Marie, 
that  the  snow  has  blocked  up  all  the  paths  leading 
from  the  eastern  hill  save  this  one,  and  this  she  must 
have  seen  as  soon  as  she  left  the  wood?  1:^0,  no, 
Madeleine  was  on  her  way  hither,  and  something,  I 
fear,  must  have  happened  to  her ;  at  all  events  we 
will  go  and  see." 

"I  will  go  with  you,"  said  Marie  rising. 

Every  one  present  remonstrated  with  her ;  for  even 
this  expedition  was  not  without  danger ;  but  Marie 
was  resolved  to  go,  and  heeded  not  their  representa- 
tions. 

"  Living  or  dead,  I  wiH  see  Madeleine  once  more," 
she  said,  in  a  tone  which  silenced  her  advisers. 

But  scarcely  had  the  little  party  proceeded  a  few 
steps,  when  Jean's  watchful  eye  detected  something 


68  MADELEINE. 


moving  along  the  piues  whicli  grew  in  the  valley  at 
their  feet.  Marie,  wrapped  in  melancholj  reflection, 
saw  nothing.  When  Jean,  however,  tapped  her 
shoulder,  and  bade  her  look  up,  she  started,  then 
stopped  short,  pale  and  trembling.  "It  is  either 
Madeleine  or  her  spirit !"  she  at  length  exclaimed. 

It  was  indeed  Madeleine  herself,  who,  unconscions 
of  the  anxiety  felt  on  her  account,  was  slowly  coming 
up  the  path.  On  perceiving  her  the  little  escort 
paused ;  but  Marie  ran  to  meet  her  friend. 

"  Oh !  Madeleine,"  she  cried,  clasping  her  arms 
round  her  neck,  "  how  much  anxiety  you  have  made 
us  endure !" 

"  I  am  indeed  sorry  for  this,"  replied  Madeleine, 
with  a  concerned  air,  as  she  returned  the  embrace  of 
iier  friend ;  "  but  when  the  snow  ceased  I  tliought  it 
best  to  come." 

When  Madeleine  reached  the  place,  the  satisfaction 
became  universal.  On  understandino;  the  uneasiness 
which  had  been  felt  on  her  account,  and  the  efforts 
on  the  point  of  being  made  in  order  to  rescue  her 
from  her  supposed  danger,  she  warmly  thanked  those 
who  had  volunteered  to  come  to  her  assistance,  and 
was  evidently  moved  by  the  general  sympathy  mani- 
fested for  her.  But  when  the  priest,  seeing  how  wet 
her  clothes  were  with  the  snow,  wanted  her  to  enter 
his  house,  where  dame  Ursula  would  provide  her 
with  a  change  of  raiment, 

"  If  you  please.  Sir,"  calmly  answered  Madeleine, 
"  I  shall  first  go  into  the  church  and  return  thanks  to 
God  for  my  preservation." 

In  a  few  minutes  Madeleine's  devotions  were  over, 
and  she  entered  the  house  of  the  cure^  where  every 


MADELEINE.  69 

tliino-  that  could  tend  to  her  comfort  was  devised. 
When  M.  Bignon,  however,  after  hearing  the  account 
of  her  adventures,  praised  her  heroism,  Madeleine 
seemed  surprised,  and  observed,  with  her  usual  sim- 
plicity, "  Kaj,  Sir,  I  was  the  poor  woman's  nearest 
neighbor ;  was  it  not  then  my  duty  to  go  and  see  her  V 


CHAPTER  VII. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  on  which  Madeleine 
had  returned  to  Mont-Saint-Jean,  the  snow  fell  so 
lieavily  that  those  who  had  accused  her  of  rashness 
now  confessed  she  had  acted  prudently  in  leaving  the 
cottage.  It  continued  to  snow  for  a  week,  until  the 
end  of  which  time  it  was  impossible  to  go  to  the 
eastern  hill  in  order  to  give  the  widow's  remains 
decent  burial.  Even  then  this  was  not  effected  with- 
out considerable  difficulty.  The  interment  of  the 
poor  woman,  whom  almost  every  one  had  neglected 
so  long  as  she  lived,  attracted  a  large  number  of  per- 
sons. The  chief  source  of  interest,  however,  was  the 
presence  of  Madeleine,  who  seemed  unconscious  not 
only  of  this  fact,  but  even  that  she  had  done  any 
thing  worthy  of  admiration. 

"  For,"  as  she  always  observed  when  addressed  on 
this  subject,  "  was  she  not  the  widow's  nearest  neigli- 
bor?" 

There  are  few  virtues  so  much  admired  by  unin- 
formed minds  as  courage.  The  disregard  of  danger 
manifested  by  Madeleine  in  undertaking  her  expedi- 
tion, and  the  coolness  which  had  enabled  her  to  bring 


TO  MADELEINE, 


it  to  an  end  in  safety,  were  therefore  more  valued  in 
Mont-Saint-Jean  than  the  noble  motive  of  Christian 
charity  which  had  led  her  to  the  widow's  cottage. 
Hitherto  she  had  only  been  the  solitary  girl  who  lived 
near  the  churchyard,  or  poor  Madeleine  whom  Mau- 
rice had  left  for  Rosette  Besson ;  but  now  she  became 
the  brave  Madeleine  who  had  gone  up  to  the  eastern 
hill  in  the  snow-storm.  If  she  had  been  inclined  to 
act  the  part  of  a  village  heroine,  Madeleine  certainly 
possessed  an  excellent  opportunity  of  doing  so.  'No- 
thing, however,  was  farther  removed  from  her 
thoughts.  She  remained  the  same  simple,  retiring 
maiden  she  had  ever  been  ;  and,  as  she  sought  not  to 
keep  up  her  reputation  for  bravery  by  any  feat  of 
darins:,  the  matter  soon  ceased  to  be  the  theme  of 
wonder  and  admiration. 

Madeleine,  however,  did  not  so  soon  forget  all  that 
had  passed  between  her  and  the  widow,  whose  his- 
tory had  made  a  deep  impression  npon  her  mind,  by 
showing  her  how  much  misery  and  suffering  reigned 
in  the  world.  The  more  she  reflected  on  the  subject, 
the  more  she  felt  confirmed  in  a  resolve  which  she 
liad  taken  since  her  parting  with  Maurice,  but  which 
was  as  yet  known  to  herself  alone. 

"I  never  knew  all  this  before,"  she  inwardly 
thought;  " then,  may  there  not  be  misery  in  Mont- 
Saint-Jean  of  which  I  am  unaware ;  and,  even  if  there 
is,  can  I  change  this  ?" 

But,  though  Madeleine  knew  that  she  was  herself 
only  a  poor  peasant  girl,  that  her  power  was  limited, 
she  also  felt  that  every  individual,  however  humble, 
can  aid  others  more  humble  still. 

Living  as  she  did  alone,  Madeleine  had  leisure  to 


MADELEINE.  71 


think.  She  was  of  a  speculative,  though  not  of  an 
inquiring  disposition ;  if  she  did  not  seek  to  extend 
her  information,  it  was  because  she  could  have  no 
definite  object  in  doing  so.  Madeleine  was  ignorant, 
and  those  onlj  who  have  made  some  progress  in 
knowledge  can  value  it  for  its  own  sake,  and  feel 
that  it  is  always  useful.  But,  notwithstanding  those 
disadvantages,  there  was  a  characteristic  in  her  mind 
which  could  not  have  failed  to  strike  any  one  in  the 
least  given  to  metaphysical  observation  :  it  was,  that 
whenever  a  fact  offered  itself  to  her  as  sufiiciently 
remarkable  to  be  remembered,  she  never  dismissed  it 
from  her  thoughts  until  she  had  examined  it  in  all  its 
bearings,  and  this  she  did  with  a  tenacity  and  acute- 
ness  which  might  well  have  excited  admiration  in 
persons  greatly  her  superiors  in  knowledge. 

In  the  present  case  the  fact  which  struck  Made- 
leine was,  that  the  poor  suffered  in  a  manner  which 
could  never  have  been  intended  by  their  beneficent 
Creator,  and  that  they  had  a  right  to  relief.  She  re- 
membered that  the  widow  had  forgiven  the  rich  on 
her  death  bed,  and,  on  comparing  this  fact  with  her 
sad  history,  she  could  not  help  coming  to  the  conclu- 
sion, that  when  a  human  being  dies  of  want  or  misery 
the  whole  community  are  to  blame,  and  ought  in 
reality  to  be  held  answerable  for  that  being's  death. 
But,  granting  this  to  be  the  case,  what  was  she  to  do  ? 
Could  she  alter  a  state  of  things  which  had  been  en- 
during for  ages,  and  would  probably  endure  for  ages 
still  ?  She  could  not,  but  she  might  at  least  do  her 
share,  and  an  inward  voice  told  Madeleine  that  if 
every  one  adopted  this  principle  the  whole  world 
would  soon  be  right.     Her  first  step  was  to  ascertain 


72  MADELEINE. 


the  exact  amount  of  poverty  which  prevailed  in  Mont- 
Saint-Jean.  This  she  did  in  her  own  quiet  and  silent 
maimer  ;  and,  though  people  wondered  why  she  now 
came  so  often  to  the  village,  visiting  the  j^oorest  cot- 
tages in  preference  to  the  more  comfortable  dwellings, 
none  suspected  her  real  motives.  Madeleine  already 
knew  that  there  were  many  poor  families  in  her  native 
place,  but  she  had  not  been  prepared  for  the  extent 
of  the  wretchedness  which  she  now  witnessed.  Iler 
first  impulse  was  to  relieve  the  poverty  of  the  miser- 
able suflerers  by  giving  them  money  and  food ;  but, 
though  this  plan  succeeded  in  some  cases,  it  failed  in 
many  others.  The  money  was  often  squandered  away 
in  an  improvident  manner,  and  the  food  so  soon  con- 
sumed, that  Madeleine  wondered  whether  she  had 
really  done  any  good  by  her  charity.  She  soon  per- 
ceived, indeed,  that  the  poor  are  too  frequently  their 
own  enemies ;  but  with  a  truly  Christian  spirit  she 
attributed  this  to  their  condition.  She  did  not,  like 
so  many  individuals,  divide  society  into  two  classes — 
the  wise  rich  and  the  foolish  poor.  A  little  experience 
taught  her  that  human  nature  was  the  same  in  the 
aristocrats  and  the  plebeians  of  Mont-Saint-Jean, 
though  she  saw  that  it  is  unfortunately  the  fate  of 
poverty  to  bring  out  the  recklessness  and  improvi- 
dence which  increase  its  evils. 

But,  though  Madeleine  always  came  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  the  poor,  such  as  they  are,  have  a  right  to 
relief,  or,  to  sj^eak  more  plainly,  that  the  mere  act  of 
living  gives  us  all  an  equal  right  to  live,  she  often 
asked  herself,  when  she  saw  how  soon  her  means  of 
administering  this  relief  would  be  exhausted,  whether 
she  had  adopted  the  best  method  of  etfecting  her 


MADELEINE.  73 

object.  The  thought  was  one  well  worthy  of  con- 
sideration, and  henceforth  it  became  uppermost  in 
Madeleine's  mind. 

Amongst  the  individuals  whom  she  assisted  in  the 
village  was  a  poor,  old,  blind  woman,  whom  her  in- 
firmity rendered  wholly  dependent  on  the  aid  of  oth- 
ers, Madeleine,  pitying  her  sad  condition,  was  never 
weary  of  giving  her  food,  and  made  it  a  rule  not  to 
come  to  Mont-Saint-Jean  without  paying  her  a  visit. 
But,  though  she  supplied  almost  all  her  wants,  the 
old  woman  never  seemed  satisfied;  and  Madeleine 
learned  with  some  surprise  that  she  received  from 
various  quarters  almost  as  much  as  she  gave  her : 
that  consequently  she  had  more  than  enough.  The 
fact,  however,  admitted  of  an  easy  explanation. 
Mother  Pierre's  blindness  made  her  w^aste  much  that 
was  useful ;  then  it  would  happen  that  perhaps  on 
the  very  same  day  when  Madeleine  had  been  giving 
her  some  soup.  Dame  Ursula  brought  her  a  dishful, 
whilst  the  next  day  she  got  nothing ;  thus  she  often 
had  too  much,  and  often  not  enough,  Madeleine  soon 
understood  this,  and  she  saw  that,  much  as  was  given 
to  her.  Mother  Pierre  might  frequently  be  in  want. 
In  order  to  remedy  this  evil,  she  resolved  to  take  the 
old  woman  home  with  her.  "When  she  proposed  this 
to  her,  Mother  Pierre  accepted  it  joyfully,  for  the  na- 
ture of  her  infirmity  rendered  a  solitary  life  doubly 
irksome  to  her.  One  evening  she  accordingly  went 
home  with  Madeleine,  to  the  great  surprise  of  the 
villagers,  who  wondered  what  she  could  possibly 
want  with  her. 

Madeleine  spared  nothing  to  render  her  guest  com- 
fortable ;  she  gave  her  up  the  best  bed,  and  attended 

4 


74  MADELEINE. 


to  all  liei'  wants  "with  the  tender  care  of  a  devoted 
daughter.  Though  neither  Madeleine's  expenses  nor 
her  trouble  were  lessened  by  this  arrangement,  she 
was  satisfied  with  it,  for  she  felt  conscious  that  she 
had  thus  relieved  the  community  from  the  burden  of 
supporting  Mother  Pierre.  She  knew  also  that  the 
individuals  who  had  formerly  aided  the  old  woman 
could  not  give  her  any  thing  without  feeling  the  want 
of  it  in  some  way  or  other ;  by  taking  the  sole  charge 
of  her  upon  herself,  she  had  thus  evidently  rendered 
them  a  service.  Her  new  task  was  not,  however, 
without  unpleasantness.  Mother  Pierre,  though  at 
first  delighted  with  the  change  in  her  condition,  soon 
grew  accustomed  to  its  comforts,  and  began  to  lament 
living  in  this  solitary  spot,  far  from  all  her  friends 
and  acquaintances ;  she  declared  that  this  life  was 
intolerable,  and  insisted  on  leaving  Madeleine  to  re- 
turn to  her  old  place  of  abode.  It  was  in  vain  the 
young  girl  remonstrated.  Mother  Pierre  would  have 
her  way,  and  Madeleine  at  length  gave  a  reluctant 
consent ;  but  Mother  Pierre  now  took  another  humor 
— she  would  not  go :  in  short,  Madeleine  perceived 
that  the  old  woman  only  wanted  to  grumble  at  some- 
thing. 

Mother  Pierre  had  not  been  long  in  her  house  when 
Madeleine,  in  her  visits  to  Mont-Saint- Jean,  noticed 
the  wretched  condition  of  a  poor  old  woman  named 
Catherine,  who,  after  a  life  of  toil  and  industry,  was 
now  reduced  to  the  deepest  misery.  Though  Mad- 
eleine assisted  her  as  much  as  lay  in  her  power, 
she   could   only   alleviate   her   distress   without   re- 


moving it. 


"  Ah !    Mother  Pierre  must  be  very  happy  with 


MADELEINE.  75 


you,"  one  day  said  Catherine  to  lier ;  "  you  are  so 
kind  and  good." 

Madeleine  could  not  resist  this  indirect  aj^peal. 
"  "Would  you  like  to  come  and  live  with  me  also  ?" 
said  she,  sitting  down  near  the  old  woman. 

Catherine  looked  up  wistfdly  into  her  face,  then 
incredulously  shook  her  head,  and  observed, — "  I  will 
not  say  you  do  not  mean  it,  ITadeleine ;  for  you  are 
too  good  to  mock  a  poor  old  thing  like  me.  But  how 
could  this  be  ?  You  have  already  Mother  Pierre  to 
support ;  and  we  all  know  that  you  have  only  your 
earnings  to  do  it  with.  The  bm-den  would  be  too 
great  for  you." 

"Do  not  think  of  that,"  earnestly  rej^lied  Made- 
leine ;  "  for  though,  as  you  say,  I  have  nothing  but 
my  own  gains  on  which  to  rely,  I  have  found  them 
more  than  enough  hitherto.  Let  not  this,  therefore, 
prevent  you  from  coming." 

Catherine,  however,  continued  to  raise  numer- 
ous objections,  but  Madeleine  overruled  them  all ; 
and  the  poor  creature,  whose  heart  secretly  inclined 
towards  the  proposal,  ended  by  giving  her  consent 
to  it. 

Madeleine  had  feared  that  her  o;uests  mio-ht  not 
agree  together ;  but  it  fortunately  happened  that  they 
were  old  friends,  and  thus  the  utmost  harmony  pre- 
vailed between  them.  Upon  the  whole,  Catherine 
gave  her  benefactress  no  reason  to  repent  of  her 
kindness.  She  was  of  the  o-reatest  use  in  attendinfr 
on  Mother  Pierre,  who  was  very  infirm  ;  she  heljDed 
Madeleine  to  clean  the  cottage  and  cook  the  victuals ; 
and  she  even  insisted  on  mending  up  the  linen  and 
old  clothes.      In  this  latter  task,  her  failing  sight 


7G  MADELEINE. 


made  her  commit  many  mistakes,  which  Madeleine, 
who  saw  how  bent  she  was  on  rendering  herself  use- 
ful, feigned  not  to  notice,  lest  she  should  grieve  her. 
At  night,  however,  she  secretly  undid  the  work  in 
which  Catherine  took  so  much  pride.  The  old  wo- 
man, whom  she  thought  asleej),  once  perceived  her 
thus  engaged,  and,  understanding  at  once  Made- 
leine's motive,  withdrew  unnoticed ;  but  from  that 
time  forward  she  gave  up  needlework.  Madeleine 
had  thought,  when  she  received  old  Catherine  into 
her  house,  that  her  expenses  would  be  increased  in 
proportion  to  the  numbers  of  her  family ;  that  is  to 
say,  that  where  she  formerly  spent  one  franc,  she 
should  now  spend  three.  But,  to  her  surprise,  she 
found  that  when  she  was  alone  it  cost  her  almost  half 
of  what  it  did  now ;  thus,  that  three  persons  could  be 
kept  for  double  the  sum  which  would  be  expended 
for  one  alone.  When  this  fact  presented  itself  to 
Madeleine's  mind,  she  could  not  help  exclaiming  in- 
wardly, "What  a  pity  the  poor  people  will  not  all 
live  together,  and  thus  be  comfortable,  instead  of  re- 
maining miserable  and  alone !" 

Then  Madeleine  asked  herself  if  this  was  impos- 
sible ;  but,  though  she  reflected  much  on  the  plan, 
she  could  not  see  how  it  was  to  be  rendered  practi- 
cable. 

About  two  months  after  she  had  taken  in  Cathe- 
rine, and  when  the  weather  was  still  very  cold,  Made- 
leine was  leaving  her  cottage  one  morning  for  the 
village,  when  she  perceived  sitting  on  the  stone  steps 
an  old  man  whom  she  recognized  as  old  Michel,  au 
inhabitant  of  one  of  the  neighboring  parishes,  who 
occasionally  came  to  Mont-Saint- Jean  to  beg ;  for,  not 


MADELEINE.  ^7 

being  a  native  of  these  parts,  he  had  no  relatives  to 
assist  him. 

"  Why  do  you  sit  here  in  the  cold,  Michel  ?"  gently 
asked  Madeleine. 

The  old  man,  who  had  long  been  in  a  state  of  sec- 
ond childhood,  looked  np  into  her  face,  and  muttered 
some  unintelligible  reply. 

"  Come  in,"  said  Madeleine,  assisting  him  to  rise, 
and  leading  him  in. 

Michel  entered  the  cottage  with  great  alacrity.  Ho 
immediately  sat  down  near  the  fire,  and  eat  the  bread 
and  meat  which  Madeleine  laid  before  him  with  evi- 
dent relish. 

"What  brought  you  so  far  out  of  your  usual 
rounds  on  this  cold  day,  Michel  ?"  asked  Madeleine, 
when  the  old  man  had  done  eating. 

"I  am  come  to  live  with  you,"  he  quietly  replied. 

"  To  live  with  me  !"  echoed  Madeleine,  much 
astonished. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Michel ;  "  they  say  in  our  place 
that  you  are  taking  all  the  old  people  in  to  live  with 
you,  and  so  I  thought  I  would  come  too." 

Madeleine,  was  greatly  embarrassed ;  she  knew 
not  how  to  tell  the  old  man  that  she  could  not  re- 
ceive him.  She  at  length  did  so  in  the  most  gentle 
manner,  giving  him  to  understand  that  her  cottage 
was  not  large  enough  for  four  persons  to  live  in  it. 
But  Michel  was  too  childish  to  feel  the  force  of  her 
reasoning,  and,  looking  up  wistfully  into  her  face,  he 
merely  said,  "  I  will  not  take  up  much  room,  Made- 
leine." 

Madeleine  turned  away  that  he  might  not  see  the 
tears  which  rose  to  her  eyes.     She  was  wavering  in 


78  MADELEINE. 


her  purpose  ;  but  Mother  Pierre  and  Catherine,  who 
were  both  present,  now  interfered,  and,  as  they  by 
no  means  liked  the  prospect  of  having  Michel  for  a 
fellow-guest,  they  omitted  no  argument  likely  to  pro- 
duce an  effect  upon  Madeleine.  She  yielded  to  their 
prudential  motives,  which  agreed  with  her  own  judg- 
ment, and  gently  though  firmly  told  Michel  she  could 
not  keep  him,  and  that  he  must  go  with  her  to  Mont- 
Saint-Jean,  whither  she  was  proceeding  now.  The 
old  man  had  heeded  nothing  of  what  either  Mother 
Pierre  or  Catherine  said,  but  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on 
Madeleine  all  the  time.  When  he  heard  her  decision 
he  looked  distressed,  but  prepared  to  follow  her  ac- 
cording to  her  request  with  the  passive  obedience  of 
a  child.  It  was  not  without  a  sorrowful  heart  that 
Madeleine  parted  from  him  when  they  reached  Mont- 
Saint-Jean  ;  she  placed  a  silver  coin  in  his  hand,  and 
told  him  to  apply  to  her  whenever  he  was  in  distress ; 
but  he  seemed  to  care  little  for  this.  What  he 
wanted,  he  said,  was  to  live  with  Madeleine.  The 
unerring  instinct  which  leads  the  weak  and  infirm 
to  recognize  those  who  wiL  treat  them  kindly,  had 
drawn  him  towards  the  young  girl,  and  made  him 
cling  with  strange  j^ersistency  to  the  idea  of  residing 
with  her. 

A  feelhig  like  remorse  filled  Madeleine's  mind  as 
she  went  home  alone  ;  and  yet  what  could  she  have 
done — her  cottage  was  so  small  ?  But  though  she 
reasoned  thus,  she  could  think  of  nothing  but  Michel 
and  of  the  sorrowful  look  he  gave  her  when  they 
parted,  and  she  again  told  him  he  must  go  back  to 
his  own  village.  Two  days  elapsed,  during  which 
nothing  was  heard  of  Michel,  but  on  the  third  day 


MADELEINE.  7'J 

after  his  visit,  the  first  object  Vv-hich  Madeleine  saw 
on  025ening  the  "window  of  the  front  room,  was  the 
old  man  sitting  on  the  door-step  in  the  same  attitude 
as  on  the  former  occasion, 

"  Do  not  scold  me,  Madeleine,"  he  beseechingly 
observed,  when  she  opened  the  door,  "  I  tried  to  stay 
away,  but  I  could  not ;  do  not  bid  me  go." 

"  Bid  thee  go,  poor  creature  I*  exclaimed  Made- 
leine, her  eyes  filling  with  tears  as  she  spoke,  "  Heav- 
en forbid  ;  God  sent  thee  hither,  and  He  will  surely 
enable  me  to  provide  for  thee." 

"  You  need  not  mind  about  a  bed,"  hurriedly  ob- 
served Michel,  as  though  he  feared  some  objection ; 
"  I  have  brought  my  blanket  with  me  :  it  is  a  very 
warm  one,"  he  added,  as  he  produced  a  thin  worn- 
out  article,  which  might,  from  its  aspect,  have  been 
as  old  as  Michel  himself. 

"  Come  in,"  said  Madeleine,  w^ith  a  smile  :  "  hence- 
forth this  is  thy  home." 

The  old  man  entered  as  though  it  were  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world.  He  sat  down  to  break- 
fast with  Madeleine  and  the  old  women,  who  were 
any  thing  but  pleased  at  his  appearance,  and  the 
same  night  he  took  possession  of  Madeleine's  bed, 
whilst  she  slept  on  a  chair  as  a  matter  of  course. 
Having  gained  his  point,  he  relapsed  into  his  usual 
state  of  childishness,  the  act  of  providing  himself 
with  the  blanket  being  the  last  proof  of  forethought 
which  he  gave.  Although  Mother  Pierre  and  Cathe- 
rine held  from  Madeleine's  bounty  all  the  comforts 
which  they  enjoyed,  the  selfish  spirit  engendered  by 
long  struggling  with  the  world  made  them  repine  at 
seeing  those  enjoyments  shared  by  another  individ- 


80  MADELEINE. 


ual,  whose  claim  to  them  was  as  well  founded  as  their 
own.  Catherine,  who  instinctively  felt  that  this  was 
not  right,  and  not  likely  to  please  Madeleine,  for 
whom  she  entertained  a  sincere  affection,  strove  to 
conceal  her  feelings  on  the  subject,  but  Mother  Pierre 
was  loud  in  her  complaints  ;  any  one  might  have 
thought  on  hearing  her  that  she  had  undergone  some 
real  wrong.  Seeing,  however,  that  all  her  murmurs 
did  not  induce  Madeleine  to  turn  the  old  man  out  of 
doors,  she  at  length  desisted,  sullenly  foretelling  that 
Michel  would  give  his  hostess  infinite  trouble,  and 
that  the  additional  cost  his  presence  entailed  would 
cause  her  to  break  up  her  establishment. 

The  fii"st  prediction  was  soon  verified,  for  Michel, 
who  was  too  childish  to  be  reasoned  with,  always  got 
into  some  new  scrape,  from  which  he  had  to  be  ex- 
tricated by  Madeleine.  His  chief  propensity  was  to 
roam  over  the  country,  no  matter  in  what  weather, 
and  without  any  object.  Madeleine  vainly  tried  to 
keep  him  in  ;  he  slipped  out  at  the  first  opportunity, 
and  often  wandered  to  a  distance  of  several  leases. 
On  those  occasions  he  was  either  brought  back  to 
Madeleine's  dwelling  by  some  child,  who  knew  that 
he  would  be  rewarded  with  a  handful  of  nuts  for  his 
trouble,  or  Madeleine  had  to  go  and  search  for  the 
truant  herself  He  always  promised  never  to  offend 
again,  but  his  j^romise  was  as  soon  forgotten  as  made : 
it  was  in  vain  the  two  old  women  scolded  and  railed 
at  him  ;  foolish  as  he  was,  he  had  an  instinctive  con- 
sciousness tliat  they  possessed  no  real  power  over  him, 
and  he  never  heeded  all  their  talking,  whilst  one  word 
from  Madeleine  was  enough  to  make  him  weep. 

Though  she  lost  a  good  deal  of  time  with  the  old 


MADELEINE.  81 

man,  and  though  her  expenses  were  necessarily  in- 
creased by  his  presence,  Madeleine  could  still,  accord- 
ing to  a  homely  phrase,  make  the  two  ends  meet,  and 
this  circumstance  strengthened  the  growing  faith  in 
Providence  which  was  within  her.  Three  helpless 
beings  were  now  dependent  on  her  exertions,  and  she 
had  been  able  hitherto  to  supply  their  wants  with 
every  necessary  comfort.  It  was  true  that  since  she 
had  given  up  her  bed  to  the  old  man,  she  had  been 
obliged  to  sleep  either  on  the  floor  or  on  a  chair,  but 
her  own  convenience  was  the  least  consideration 
which  ofiered  itself  to  her  mind. 

Had  she  been  one  to  remain  satisfied  with  doinoj 
her  duty,  Madeleine  might  now  have  stopped  in  her 
work,  for  she  had  certainly  done  more  than  enough. 
But  she  could  not  pause  merely  because  she  had  per- 
formed her  share  of  the  task  ;  she  aimed  at  general 
utility,  and  she  knew  there  was  still  much  to  be  ef- 
fected in  Mont-Saint-Jean.  But  how  was  she  to  rem- 
edy this,  or  what  was  she  to  do  ?  For  many  nights, 
instead  of  sleeping,  she  sat  upon  her  chair  watching 
the  fire  and  revolving  this  subject  in  her  mind, 
"  What  was  to  be  done  for  Mont-Saint- Jean  ?" 

Though  they  knew  not  the  nature  of  the  thoughts 
which  rendered  her  so  silent  and  abstracted,  the  old 
women  and  Marie  Michon,  who  continued  to  visit  her 
friend,  now  noticed  a  marked  change  in  Madeleine's 
demeanor.  After  some  time,  however,  this  passed 
away,  and  she  resumed  without  any  apj^arent  cause 
the  cheerful  composure  which  was  habitual  to  her. 

Madeleine  had  been  meditating  long  and  deeply 
on  a  subject  which  to  her  was  one  of  powerful  inter- 
est— the  fate  of  the  poor.     Her  experience  was  brief 


82  MADELEINE, 


and  limited,  but  during  the  last  few  months  she  had 
observed  much  and  attentively.  She  had  visited  the 
poorest  and  most  remote  dwellings  of  the  surround- 
ing valleys,  and  the  poverty  and  wretchedness  of 
their  inhabitants  had  struck  her  with  sorrow  and  dis- 
may. One  fact  especially  impressed  itself  on  Made- 
leine's mind.  It  was  that,  though  misfortunes  may 
have  been  intended  by  the  Almighty  to  chasten  and 
purify  the  human  heart,  poverty  and  its  attendant 
evils  produce  a  very  different  effect.  She  saw  that 
those  who  were  born  and  reared  in  misery  looked 
upon  life  as  on  a  long  struggle,  in  which  those  who 
possessed  most  strength  or  cunning  iiad  the  best 
chance  of  success ;  hence  that  intense  selfishness, 
which  is  so  often  a  characteristic  of  the  poor,  and 
which  seems  indeed  a  condition  of  poverty.  By  poor, 
Madeleine  never  understood  those  who  could  by 
working  supply  the  wants  of  nature ;  amongst  these 
wild  hills  they  were  looked  upon  as  rich,  however 
deficient  they  might  be  in  worldly  wealth.  The  poor 
were  for  Madeleine  those  unhappy  beings — and  there 
were,  alas  !  too  many  around  her — who  owned  noth- 
ing on  earth  save  the  wretched  hovel  in  which  they 
iwelt,  and  who  earned  a  precarious  subsistence  by 
assisting  their  wealthier  neighbors  in  the  summer. 
During  the  winter  they  lived,  according  to  their  own 
plirase,  on  whatever  God  pleased  to  send  them. 

The  wretchedness  of  these  unhappy  families,  the 
deep  ignorance  in  which  they  were  plunged,  the 
recklessness  and  apathy  of  the  parents,  the  hunger 
and  nakedness  of  the  children — all  these  filled  Made- 
leine's heart  with  deep  pity.  She  was  chiefly  struck, 
however,  with  the  increase  of  misery  brought  on  by 


MADELEINE.  83 


disease  when  it  happened  to  light  on  anj  member  of 
the  family,  and  it  was  perhaps  owing  to  this  feeling 
that  she  mostly  visited  and  relieved  the  individuals 
thus  afflicted  in  preference  to  others  equally  wretch- 
ed. Madeleine  seemed,  indeed,  to  feel  a  strange  and 
deep  interest  in  the  fate  of  all  the  sick  of  Mont-Saint- 
Jean  :  if  they  were  poor,  she  relieved  them ;  but 
even  when  they  needed  not  her  assistance  she  always 
managed  so  as  to  be  near  them,  rendering  them  all 
the  little  services  in  her  power,  and  studying  with 
marked  attention  the  symptoms  of  their  various  dis- 
eases. This  conduct  excited  much  surprise  and  spec- 
ulation in  Mont-Saint-Jean,  where  she  now  became  a 
frequent  visitor,  and  whenever  her  gray  cloak  was 
seen  some  villager  failed  not  to  remark,  '•  There  goes 
Madeleine  to  see  some  sick  person,  I'll  be  bound. 
What  can  make  the  girl  so  fond  of  the  sick  ?" 

Vulo;ar  minds  seldom  admit  of  actions  bcino-  done 
merely  for  the  sake  of  principle.  "When  Madeleine 
had  gone  up  to  the  eastern  hill  the  people  of  Mont- 
Saint-Jean  had  chiefly  admired  her  courage ;  when 
she  received  into  her  house  the  two  old  women  and 
Michel,  thev  wondered  what  she  meant  to  do  with 
them ;  and  in  her  present  persevering  attention  to  the 
sick  they  only  saw  a  whim  which  would  soon  pass 
away.  But  Marie,  either  because  her  friendship  for 
Madeleine  led  her  to  put  a  different  construction  on 
her  actions,  or  because  she  knew  her  better  than 
those  who  judged  her  thus,  never  failed  to  observe 
when  addressed  on  the  subject,  "  Nay,  depend  upon 
it,  Madeleine  has  a  motive  for  what  she  does,  though 
U'hat  that  motive  is  Heaven  alone  knows." 

"Whatever  it  was,  Madeleine  seemed  in  no  hurry  to 


84  MADELEINE. 


reveal  it;  though  many  broad  hhits  were  dropped 
in  her  presence,  she  never  answered  thera,  but  si- 
lently persevered  in  the  mode  of  conduct  she  had 
adopted. 

Notwithstanding  the  severity  of  the  winter,  which 
was  unusuallv  cold  and  tedious,  Madeleine  continued 
to  visit  and  relieve,  as  much  as  her  slender  means 
allowed,  the  neighboring  sick  and  poor.  There  did 
not  exist  in  the  whole  vicinity  a  snowy  peak  on  which 
arose  some  solitary  dwelling  which  the  once  retiring 
and  quiet  peasant  girl  had  not  visited  ere  the  winter 
was  over,  bringing  comfort  and  consolation  with  her 
gentle  presence.  To  use  the  language  of  the  inhab- 
itants of  Mont-Saint- Jean,  "  Her  gray  cloak  was  to 
be  seen  wherever  there  was  sorrow  or  suffering," — in 
the  depths  of  the  silent  valleys  or  on  the  steep  heights 
of  the  ancient  hills. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

When  spring  came  on,  Madeleine,  without  relaxing 
in  her  labors,  seemed  to  change  their  aim.  She  went 
out  less  and  worked  more ;  and,  such  was  her  assi- 
duity at  her  wheel,  that  both  the  old  people  and 
Marie  Michon  conjectured  this  increase  of  industry 
must  be  intended  to  further  some  definite  object, 
though  what  that  was  they  were  unable  to  guess. 
Marie's  first  impression  led  her  to  believe  that  Made- 
leine meant  to  augment  her  expenses  by  taking  some 
other  helpless  being  imder  her  care ;  but  the  small- 
ness  of  her  cottage,  which  rendered  this  literally  im* 


MADELEINE.  85 


possible,  f,oou  banished  the  idea  from  her  mind.  She 
wished  to  question  Madeleine  on  the  subject,  without 
darins;  to  do  so ;  for  the  calm  reserve  of  the  Y0un</ 
girl,  though  strongly  tempered  with  kindness,  had 
inspired  Marie  with  a  sort  of  awe  for  her  friend :  so 
unlike  did  it  render  her  to  all  those  whom  she  had 
ever  known. 

In  the  mean  time  Madeleine  kept  her  own  counsel, 
and  performed  whatever  she  had  to  do  in  her  habitu- 
ally quiet  and  silent  manner.  On  a  fine  morning, 
in  the  month  of  April,  she  suddenly  announced  to 
Catherine  that  she  was  going  to  Mont-Saint-Jean  to 
see  M.  Bignon,  the  parish  priest ;  and  that  neither 
she  nor  Mother  Pierre  need  wait  for  her  return,  in 
order  to  take  their  noontide  meal.  Old  Michel  had 
been  eone  since  the  morninj;  on  one  of  his  ramblino; 

o  o  o 

expeditions. 

"  To  Mont-Saint-Jean,  and  to  see  the  cure  /"  echoed 
Catherine,  hoping  thus  to  elicit  something  more. 

"  Yes,  1  want  to  speak  to  him,"  calmly  answered 
Madeleine. 

"  To  s]3eak  to  him !"  repeated  Catherine. 

But  this  time  Madeleine  made  no  reply,  and  mere- 
ly busied  herself  in  preparations  for  her  departure. 
Whei  these  were  concluded  she  bade  Catherine  fare- 
well, and  took  the  path  leading  to  Mont-Saint- Jean. 
She  had  not  been  long  away  when  Marie  Michon 
came  in.  Catherine  immediately  communicated  to 
her  the  important  fact  that  Madeleine  was  gone  to 
see  the  priest.  Marie  heard  her  with  surprise,  though 
in  silence :  every  action  of  Madeleine,  however  tritliug 
in  itself,  assumed  significance  in  her  eyes ;  and,  as 
she  went  homewards,  she  could  not  help  musing  on 


86  MADELEINE 


this  fact,  connecting  it  with  several  other  circumstan 
ces  which  had  come  to  her  knowledge. 

Tiiongh  the  result  of  her  conjectures  was  not  far 
from  the  truth,  it  is  unnecessary  to  mention  it  here  ; 
and,  even  before  giving  an  account  of  Madeleine's 
interview  with  the  cure^  it  will  perhaps  be  expedient 
to  introduce  the  latter  personage  more  fully  to  the 
reader's  notice. 

To  begin  with  his  person  :  Monsieur  Bignon  was  a 
hale,  rosy-faced,  good-humored-looking,  little  man,  on 
the  verge  of  fifty  ;  his  countenance  was,  however,  less 
indicative  of  the  higher  order  of  intellect  than  of  nat- 
m-al  kindliness  of  heart ;  and,  indeed,  a  more  truly 
contented,  happy,  and  withal  humble  being,  could 
with  difficulty  have  been  found.  Still  M.  Bignon  was 
not  properly  to  be  considered  as  the  beau  ideal  of  a 
parish  priest.  He  was  kind  and  indulgent  to  his 
parishioners,  and  seldom  got  vexed  with  them,  though 
they  gave  him  cause  enough  ;  but,  to  say  the  truth, 
the  good,  easy  man  did  not  like  the  trouble  of  being 
angry :  he  averred,  besides,  that  it  did  little  good ; 
and  perhaps  he  was  right  upon  the  whole. 

The  days  of  the  cure  of  Mont-Saint-Jean  were 
spent  in  uniform  regularity ;  but,  far  from  disliking 
the  monotony  of  his  existence,  he  would  have  felt 
unhaj^py  if  it  had  been  disturbed.  When  he  had 
said  mass,  as  he  invariably  did  every  morning  to  a 
few  old  Avomen,  who  were  his  sole  congregation,  the 
priest  retired  to  the  solitude  of  a  very  small  room, 
which,  as  it  contained  about  a  dozen  books,  bore  the 
dignified  name  of  his  study.  Here  M.  Bignon  busied 
himself  until  dinner-time  in  j)enning  a  long  and  la- 
borious refutation  of  all  the  atheistical,  deistical,  and 


MADELEINE.  87 


anti-christian  propositions  contained  in  Yoltaire's 
works.  The  worthy  man  had  begun  this  task,  which 
had  now  been  in  hand  for  upwards  of  twenty-five 
years,  with  the  vague  idea  that  it  would  be  finished 
some  day ;  but  it  was  still  in  its  infiincy.  Though 
nothing  could  be  more  imcongenial  to  his  quiet,  easy 
spirit,  than  a  controversial  work,  M.  Bignon,  having 
in  an  unlucky  hour  acquired  the  conviction  that  his 
character  demanded  it  from  him,  submitted  to  this 
painful  necessity  with  the  most  heroic  patience. 

After  dinner  the  cure^  being  now  released  from  his 
morning  drudgery,  toiled  at  his  garden  with  a  hearti- 
ness and  good-will  pleasant  to  witness,  so  well  did 
they  show  how  fitted  he  was  for  the  task.  When 
this  was  over  he  put  on  his  cassock,  took  his  breviary 
under  his  arm,  and  sauntered  about  the  village,  ad- 
dressing every  one  he  met  with  his  usual  cordial 
good  humor,  and  occasionally  entering  one  of  the 
cottages  on  his  way,  where  his  gentle  manners,  easy 
temper,  and  simplicity  of  heart,  ever  rendered  him  a 
welcome  visitor.  When  his  eveuiuE:  round  was  over, 
M.  Bignon  returned  to  the  Presbytery  through  the 
fields,  supped  quietly  with  his  housekeej)er,  Dame 
Ursula,  and  retired  for  the  night  with  as  contented  a 
heart  and  peaceful  a  conscience  as  man  need  wish  to 
possess. 

Occasionally,  however,  though  not  very  often,  the 
good  priest  grew  uneasy,  and  imagined  that  all  was 
not  or  could  not  be  right — that  he  was  remiss  in  the 
duties  of  his  sacred  calling,  and  ought  to  do  more 
than  he  did.  Whenever  his  mind  happened  to  be 
oppressed  by  these  ideas,  he  fell  into  fits  of  melan- 
choly, during  which,  as  Dame  Ursula  asserted,  ho 


88  MADELEINE 


would  mope  about  for  a  whole  evening  at  a  time. 
Then,  for  a  day  or  two,  perhaps,  he  would  be  exceed- 
ingly zealous  in  the  performance  of  what  he  conceived 
to  be  his  duties ;  he  either  sat  in  the  kitchen  with 
Dame  Ursula,  and  read  to  her  long  extracts  from  his 
Kefutation  of  Yoltaire,  by  which,  of  course,  she  was 
wonderfully  edified ;  or  he  spent  the  whole  day  in 
visiting  his  parishioners,  in  order  to  ascertain  that  all 
his  little  flock  were  in  good  spiritual  health.  As  M. 
Bignon  was  wonderfully  strict  and  rigorous  during 
those  visits,  insisting  on  every  member  of  each  family 
being  able  to  repeat  the  whole  Catechism,  they  were 
not  by  any  means  so  much  liked  as  his  evening  calls, 
when  he  only  laughed  and  joked  with  the  merriest. 

To  give  the  good  man  his  due,  those  fits  of  zeal 
were  of  very  short  duration.  He  soon  discovered 
that  Ursula's  cookery  was  never  so  good  when  he 
had  been  reading  to  her,  and  that,  whenever  he  drew 
the  Catechism  from  his  pocket  on  one  of  his  jjastoral 
visits,  the  members  of  the  family  one  by  one  managed 
to  drop  off,  until  he  was  left  alone  with  some  old  and 
half-deaf  grandam.  What  could  M.  Bignon  do  but 
become  once  more  the  same  easy,  good-natured  man 
that  he  was  before  ? 

But  all  this  time  we  have  said  nothino;  of  M. 
Morel,  M.  Bignon's  bosom  friend,  and  the  priest  of 
the  neighboring  parish  of  Puysaye.  A  greater  con- 
trast than  that  which  existed  betvv'een  the  two  clergy- 
men, notwithstanding  their  friendship,  could  with 
difiiculty  have  been  found.  They  had  been  brought 
up  together  in  a  remote  village  of  Auvergne  ;  their 
youth  had  been  spent  in  the  same  seminary ;  and 
they  had  been  ordained  on  the  same  day.   Since  then 


MADELEINE.  8*^ 


thej  bad  each  resided  in  their  humble  parish,  both 
declining  every  offer  of  advancement  lest  it  should 
separate  them.  ISTever  was  there  friendship  more 
firm  and  lasting,  and  yet  to  all  appearance  so  little 
justified  ;  for,  as  their  respective  parishioners  ob- 
served, they  differed  from  one  another  as  night  does 
from  day.  M.  Morel  was  a  tall,  thin,  grave-looking 
man  ;  his  mind  seemed  a  singular  compound  of  kind- 
ness and  severity  ;  he  rebuked  more  than  he  praised, 
but  he  assisted  and  relieved  oftener  than  he  did 
either.  Many  feared  him  and  called  him  stern  ;  those 
who  knew  him  better  asserted  that  there  did  not  live 
a  kinder  heart ;  such  a  zealous  and  indefatigable 
pastor  had,  indeed,  never  been  seen  among  the  hills 
of  Auverme.  M.  Morel's  chief  characteristic  was  an 
ardent  wish  for  improving  and  bettering  the  condi- 
tion of  the  peasantry;  he  promoted  education  in 
every  possible  manner,  he  gave  the  best  of  advice  on 
almost  every  subject  to  the  heads  of  families,  and 
showed,  on  every  occasion,  that  nothing  lay  so  near 
his  heart  as  their  happiness.  Yet,  with  all  his  excel- 
lent qualities,  the  cure  of  Puysaye  was  less  beloved 
than  easy  M.  Bignon.  He  possessed  more  power,  and 
he  was,  perhaps,  more  respected  ;  but  he  had  not  the 
art  of  conciliating  men,  and  his  wisest  counsels  were 
always  received  with  a  certain  degree  of  that  distrust 
which  generally  characterizes  the  ignorant  poor. 
This  diflerence  of  disposition  was,  perhaps,  the  cause 
of  the  friendship  which  existed  between  the  two 
priests.  M.  Morel  rather  liked  to  domineer,  and  .'M. 
Bignon  was  just  the  person  to  be  domineered  over 
and  know  nothing  about  it ;  indeed,  he  rather  fancied 
that  he  was  of  a  tyrannical  disposition,  and,  in  the 


90  MADELEINE 


liumility  and  simplicity  of  his  heart,  often  exclaimed 
aloud,  "  that  his  brother  Morel  must  have  a  truly 
Christian  spirit  to  bear  so  meekly  with  his  in- 
firmities." 

Such  an  observation,  when  made  in  her  presence, 
never  failed  to  irritate  highly  Dame  Ursula.  "  But, 
sir,"  she  would  remark  in  an  impatient  tone,  "  do  not 
you  see  that  you  yield  to  him  in  every  thing  ?  l^o 
wonder  he  bears  with  you !  I  am  sure  a  saint  could 
not  be  more  meek  and  patient  than  you  are  ;  and  M. 
Morel,  who  is  no  saint  I  suppose — " 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Ursula !"  M.  Bignon  would 
here  sternly  observe,  for  he  never  allowed  a  word  to 
be  uttered  in  disparagement  of  his  friend  :  "  you  un- 
derstand nothing  of  these  matters," 

"  Well,  SU-,"  shai-ply  replied  Ursula,  speaking  in  a 
tone  of  defiance,  "  if  I  understand  nothing  of  these 
matters,  I  should  like  to  know  what  Mdlle.  Antoi- 
nette [M.  Morel's  housekeeper]  can  know  about  them  ! 
And  yet,  to  hear  her  talk,  one  would  think  her  mas- 
ter was  the  only  cure  in  France.  It  seems,  however, 
to  my  poor  judgment,  that  you  are  as  good  as  any 
one  else." 

"  Ursula,  Ursula  !"  reproachfully  said  M.  Bignon, 
"  how  often  must  I  tell  you  that  we  were  not  put  upon 
this  earth  to  quarrel  with  our  brethren,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  to  be  full  of  peace  and  charity  towards 
them !  Do  I  not  preach  a  sermon  to  this  effect  every 
Sunday  ?  But  of  what  use  can  it  be  if  you  do  not  act 
upon  it  ?  Will  not  all  the  parishioners  say,  '  Ah ! 
what  the  curt  tells  us  is  very  fine,  but,  since  the  cure's 
own  housekeeper  minds  it  so  little,  it  cannot  bo 
worth  much  I' " 


MADELEINE.  91 


This  was  assailing  Ursula  in  a  tender  point,  and 
M.  Bignon,  simple  as  he  was,  knew  it  very  well.  As 
tlie  cure's  housekeeper,  she  conceived  herself  bound 
to  set  every  one  a  good  example,  and  generally  an- 
swered her  master's  pathetic  appeal  by  heroically 
promising  to  say  no  more  on  the  subject. 

But  the  truth  was  that  the  two  housekeepers,  for  it 
is  almost  needless  to  observe  that  the  real  quarrel  was 
between  them,  were  by  no  means  on  friendly  terms ; 
they  had  no  mutual  sympathies.  Ursula  was  a 
widow,  and  Antoinette  an  old  maid  ;  they  were  both 
of  the  same  age,  but  each  wanted  to  be  the  youngest. 
This  was  of  course  a  delicate  and  often-contested 
point.  The  former,  too,  had  never  left  Mont-Saint- 
Jean,  unless  to  \isit  the  neighboring  villages,  whereas 
Mdlle.  Antoinette  had  many  years  before  spent  six 
months  in  the  capital,  for  which  advantage  Dame 
Ursula  could  never  find  it  in  her  heart  to  forgive  her. 
Notwithstanding  the  friendship  of  their  masters,  they 
seldom  met,  but,  when  such  an  event  happened,  were 
always  exceedingly  polite  and  formal ;  they  also 
never  failed  to  pay  one  another  certain  state  visits 
during  the  course  of  the  year.  That  this  seeming  of 
amity  existed  between  the  two  belligerent  powei-s 
was  solely  attributable  to  M.  Bignon's  efforts  ;  for, 
either  owing  to  Antoinette's  superior  breeding,  or  to 
his  own  abstraction,  M.  ]\[orel  appeared  to  know  no- 
thing of  the  covert  feud.  Even  if  he  was  aware  of  it, 
he  at  least  forbore  to  interfere,  and  trusted  entirely 
to  his  friend's  diplomacy  in  order  to  make  matters  go 
on  smoothly. 

Having  given  some  idea  of  the  cure  of  Mont-Saint- 
Jean,  WG  will  now  proceed  to  relate  the  particulars 


92  MADELEINE. 


of  the  interview  which  Madeleine  had  with  him  on 
the  morning  when,  as  we  have  abeady  mentioned, 
she  left  her  cottage  for  that  purpose. 

When  Dame  Ursula,  after  having  announced  her 
visit,  introduced  Madeleine  into  M.  Bignon's  study, 
the  young  girl  discovered  that  the  priest  of  Puysaye 
was  with  his  friend.  M.  Morel,  however,  merely 
danced  towards  her  as  she  entered,  and  continued 
writing,  an  occupation  in  which  he  had  been  en- 
gaged during  the  whole  morning. 

"Is  it  any  thing  private  you  have  to  say  to  me, 
child  ?"  asked  M.  Bignon  of  Madeleine  when  she 
was  seated. 

"  It  is  nothing,  sir,  that  I  cannot  say  now." 
"  Yery  well,  then,  speak  ;  M.  Morel  will  not  mind 
you,  so  you  need  not  be  afraid  of  him.   What  do  you 
want  with  me  ?" 

"  I  want  you,  sir,  if  you  will  be  so  kind,  to  per- 
suade Farmer  Nicolas  to  give  me  the  house  he  has 
now  to  let.  I  dearly  wish  to  take  it,  but  I  cannot 
give  him  more  than  a  hundred  and  seventy  francs 
a  year.  Perhaps  if  you  would  speak  to  him,  sir,  he 
would  relent,  and  let  me  have  it  for  the  money ;  for 
he  is  rich,  and  can  aiford  it." 

"  But  what  do  you  want  with  that  large  house, 
Madeleine  ?  Are  you  going  to  get  married  ?"  asked 
M.  Bignon  with  a  jocular  wink,  for  to  say  the  truth 
he  delighted  in  weddings. 

"InTo,   sir,"   answered   Madeleine  calmly,  though 

there  was  sadness  in  her  tone  ;  "  I  shall  never  marry. 

If  I  want  Farmer  Nicolas's  house,"  she  added  after  a 

brief  pause,  "  it  is  because  mine  is  growing  too  small." 

"Too  small !  Why,  who  is  in  it«" 


MADELEINE.  93 


"  Old  Mother  Pierre,  Catherine,  and  Michel, 
sir." 

"And  what  has  broiio-ht  them  there?"  asked  the 
priest,  opening  his  eyes  very  wide. 

"  I  took  in  Mother  Pierre  in  the  beginning  of  the 
winter,  when,  as  you  may  remember,  sir,  she  became 
blind  and  could  work  no  longer.  Then,  as  I  saw 
that  my  gains  increased,  and  that  my  garden  had 
brought  in  more  that  year  than  usual,  I  told  Cathe- 
rine to  come  also,  for  it  did  not  make  much  difference. 
Old  Michel  was  rather  more  inconvenient,  for  when 
he  came  Mother  Pierre  and  Catherine  had  to  sleep 
in  one  bed  that  he  might  have  the  other ;  yet  with 
God's  blessing  we  have  managed  it." 

"  And  where  do  you  sleep  ?"  asked  the  cure^  much 
astonished  at  what  he  heard. 

"  On  a  chair,  sometimes,  sir,  and,  when  it  is  not 
too  cold,  on  the  floor ;  but,  to  say  the  truth,  the  house 
is  too  small,  and  I  wish  for  a  larger  one." 

"  On  the  floor !"  said  the  cwre,  in  a  moved  tone. 
"  You  are  a  good  girl ;  but  this  must  not  last.  Ur- 
sula shall  send  you  a  mattress  to-night." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  gladly  exclaimed  Madeleine,  "it 
will  do  for  old  Michel,  for  he  says  his  is  so  hard." 

"  Madeleine/'  impatiently  observed  M.  Bignon, 
"  we  will  see  about  old  Michel,  but  the  mattress  must 
be  for  you,  mind  that.  And  now,  what  about  that 
house  ?  Why  do  you  want  it?  is  it  not  too  large  for 
you?" 

"  No,  sh',  I  have  looked  over  it,  and  it  will  do.  It 
has  four  very  large  rooms,  and,  by  contriving,  I  could 
make  it  hold  about  seven  or  eight  persons,  which  is 
as  much  as  I  could  support  just  now." 


Oi  MADELEINE, 


"  Seven  or  eight  persons !"  echoed  M.  Bignon, "  and 
how  will  you  provide  for  them  all  ?" 

"  God  will  provide  for  them,  sir,"  emphatically  re- 
plied Madeleine. 

M.  Bignon  was  silenced.  "  Yv^ell,"  said  he,  after  a 
pause,  "  I  dare  say  He  will,  for  I  verily  believe  His 
spirit  is  with  you.  You  may  make  your  mind  easy 
about  Farmer  IS^icolas's  house  ;  I  will  speak  to  him, 
and,  if  you  take  a  lease  of  it,  I  will  venture  to  answer 
that  he  will  let  you  have  it  for  the  hundred  and  sev- 
enty francs." 

" ISTay,  sir,"  observed  Madeleine,  "I  cannot  take 
a  lease,  for  heaven  only  knows  how  long  I  shall  re- 
main in  it." 

"  Explain  yourself,  child,"  said  the  cwre. 

"  Sir,"  gravely  answered  Madeleine,  "  you  know 
how  heavy  is  at  times  the  wretchedness  of  our  poor 
mountain  people.  ITearly  all  this  last  year  I  have 
been  pondering  in  my  mind  how  it  might  be  relieved. 
Yet,  though  this  was  my  thought  by  night  and  by 
day,  I  could  not  tell  how  it  was  to  be  done.  But 
once,  as  I  was  talking  to  Marie  Michon, — you  know 
her,  sir,  she  lives  on  this  side  of  the  torrent — she  told 
me  that  when  she  was  ill  with  the  fever  in  town,  her 
master  had  taken  her  to  an  hospital,  where  good  nuns 
attended  on  her  until  she  became  well  again.  "When 
she  said  this,  sir,  it  seemed  as  though  the  words  came 
from  heaven,  so  plainly  did  I  see  that  what  Mont- 
Saint-Jean  wanted  was  a  house  where  the  jDOor,  the 
sick,  and  the  infirm  might  ever  find  a  home." 

M.  Bignon  was  far  too  much  astonished  to  sj^eak. 
Construing  his  silence  into  an  approbation  of  her 
plan,  Madeleine  continued, — 


MADELEINE.  95 


"  I  liave  already  tlioiiglit  of  the  place  where  this 
house  should  stand.  I  think  it  will  be  well  on  the 
slope  of  the  hill,  for  the  air  there  is  jDure  and  healthy  • 
yet  the  building  would  still  be  in  the  middle  of  the 
village,  and  not  far  from  the  church.  It  is  because  I 
think  the  sooner  this  house  is  erected  the  better,  that 
I  do  not  wish  to  take  a  lease  of  Farmer  jSTicolas's 
house  ;  and  that  was  w4iy,  sir,  I  came  to  you." 

"We  have  already  said  that  M.  Bignon  was  a  kind 
man,  he  was  even  a  good  man,  but  his  was  not  the 
mind  to  understand  at  a  glance  Madeleine's  real  char- 
acter and  plan ;  of  the  lii'st  he  knew  little,  and  the 
second  he  deemed  so  extravagant  and  impracticable, 
that  he  ascribed  to  presumption  and  overweening- 
confidence  in  her  own  resources  a  trust  which  only 
proceeded  from  the  most  childlike  and  implicit  faith. 

"  Madeleine,"  said  he,  m  a  severe  and  discontented 
tone,  "  you  are  a  foolish  girl ;  think  no  more  of  this 
mad  plan.  Pray,  who  is  to  help  you  to  erect  this 
magnificent  hospital  of  which  you  talk  so  much  at 
your  ease  ?" 

"  I  know  not,  sir." 

"  And  yet  you  speak  of  it  as  if  it  were  already 
built,"  exclaimed  M.  Bignon  with  increasing  dis- 
pleasure. 

"  Providence  is  good,  sir." 

"  Who  told  you  that  Providence  would  help  you  in 
this,  foolish  girl  ?" 

"Yourself,  sir,"  mildly  answered  Madeleine. 

"  And  pray  when  did  I  ever  say  such  a  thing?" 

"  "When  a  few  months  ago  you  preached  that  ser- 
mon in  which  you  told  us  that  had  we  ever  so  little 
faith,  yet  with  it  we  might  move  even  hills  away. 


96  MADELEINE. 


Oh,  sir,"  she  fervently  added,  "  I  could  not  forget 
those  words,  they  sank  so  deeply  into  my  heart." 

But  IT.  Bignon  was  not  mollified.  "  So,"  said  he, 
almost  angrily,  "  you  have  chosen  to  apply  my  words 
literally.  Why  not  ask  for  the  hill  of  Saint-Jean  to 
be  moved  away  whilst  you  are  about  it  ?"  he  added 
with  what  he  thought  deep  irony. 

But  Madeleine  did  not  understand  irony,  and  this 
time,  at  least,  she  took  the  priest's  words  m  their  lit- 
eral sense.  "  ^STay,  sir,"  said  she,  evidently  aston- 
ished, "  why  should  I  ask  for  Mont-Saint-Jean  to  be 
removed  from  where  it  stands  ?  God  placed  it  here, 
and  all  I  desire,  with  His  holy  will,  is  to  see  a  house 
for  the  poor  arise  on  it  some  day." 

"  Yery  well,"  continued  M.  Bignon,  "  I  see  you 
expect  a  miracle  to  be  performed  in  your  favor ;  very- 
well." 

"  I  ask  for  no  miracle,  sir,"  still  meekly,  but  some- 
what more  firmly,  replied  Madeleine ;  "  and  I  trust 
that  for  building  a  house  none  is  needed." 

M.  Bignon  felt  rebuked,  and  his  displeasure  was 
not  lessened  by  this,  for,  though  he  was  naturally 
humble-minded,  he  fancied  that  in  this  instance  he 
was  in  the  right.  "  Very  well,  Madeleine,"  said  he 
in  a  hurt  tone,  "  you  are  wiser  than  your  old  cure  / 
go  your  ways,  child,  go  your  ways ;  Ursula  shall  send 
the  mattress  which  I  j)romised,  for  you  have  a  kind 
heart,  though  you  are  too  wilful  and  confident ;  but 
I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  Farmer  Nicolas." 

Madeleine  thanked  him  quietly  for  his  gift,  and 
turned  away  to  depart.  When  she  stood  on  the 
threshold  of  the  room-door  a  voice  called  her  back ; 
she  looked  round — it  was  M.  Morel  who  had  spoken. 


MADELEINE,  97 


Durino;  her  conversation  with  M.  Bi^j-non  he  had  con- 
tinned  writing,  but  now  he  laid  down  his  pen,  and  in 
a  mild  though  authoritative  tone  observed,  "  Stav, 
Madeleine,  I  M-ant  to  speak  to  you." 

Madeleine  paused.  M.  Bignon  turned  towards  his 
friend  with  a  surprised  look ;  but  M.  Morel  calmly 
said,  "  Brother  Bignon,  I  have  been  listening  to  this 
young  girl,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  her  plan  is  really 
a  divine  inspiration." 

"  M.  Morel,"  exclaimed  the  ewe  of  Mont-Saint- 
•Tean,  perfectly  bewildered,  "  are  you  serious  ?" 

"Assuredly,"  gravely  said  his  friend;  "cannot 
strong  and  perfect  faith  accomplish  any  thing  ?  The 
Gospel  says  so ;  and  you  and  I  are  surely  as  much 
bound  to  believe  in  it  as  this  peasant  girl." 

Again  M.  Bignon  felt  rebuked ;  but  he  began  to 
think  that  he  had  been  in  the  wrong,  and  now  shone 
forth  the  real  beauty  of  his  character,  for,  without 
any  confusion  or  false  shame,  he  turned  towards 
Madeleine  and  gently  said,  "  Child,  I  believe  I  spoke 
hastily  a  while  back ;  yet  God  knows  I  thought  I  was 
right :  but  never  mind,  I  will  speak  to  farmer  Nicolas, 
and  all  shall  be  well  again." 

Again  Madeleine  quietly  thanked  him. 

"  Madeleine,"  said  M.  Morel,  gazing  earnestly  on 
the  young  girl's  thoughtful  countenance,  and  sj^eaking 
in  a  grave  tone,  "  you  have  heard  my  words  ;  to  me 
your  plan  seems  a  thought  sent  by  heaven  itself:  but 
I  know  that  to  the  worldly-wise  it  will  be  as  folly. 
Bemember,  however,  that  the  task  you  have  taken 
on  yourself  is  a  serious  one — one  which  few  women 
could  accomplish.  But  have  you  weighed  every 
objection  to  it  ?    Think  of  it  well ;   you  are   still 

5 


98  MADELEINE, 


young ;  you  may  either  love  or  be  loved ;  it  is  in  tlia 
order  of  God  that  those  things  should  be.  I  speak 
not  to  you  of  mere  worldly  affection,  but  of  that 
sacred  bond  which  he  himself  has  established  between 
man  and  woman.  I  seek  not  to  deter  you,  though  I 
bid  you  pause ;  for,  once  on  tlie  path,  know  that  you 
must  not  even  so  much  as  look  back  behind  you." 

Whilst  M.  Morel  spoke  thus,  a  faint  blush  stole 
over  the  pale  features  of  Madeleine ;  it  lingered  tliere 
a  while,  then  slowly  died  away. 

"  Sir,"  said  she  in  a  calm  though  low  tone,  "  I 
thank  you  for  your  advice,  but  it  applies  not  to  me ; 
others  may  love  and  be  loved ;  my  lot  is  cast  in 
solitude." 

,M.  Morel  once  more  turned  his  keen  and  piercing 
gaze  on  Madeleine ;  he  marked  the  shade  of  sadness 
on  her  brow,  the  subdued  and  melancholy  light  in 
her  eyes,  and  the  low,  mournful  cadence  of  her  voice. 
He  was  a  priest,  and  had  read  many  pages  from  the 
human  heart ;  it  needed  no  second  glance  to  tell  him 
the  young  girl's  whole  history. 

"  Madeleine,"  said  he,  gravely  still,  but  in  a  more 
gentle  tone,  "  some  there  are  who  are  chosen  by  God 
to  devote  themselves  to  great  and  holy  tasks  ;  but, 
bethink  you,  they  must  give  up  even  more  than  mere 
himian  love — every  lingering  desire  otherwise  harm- 
less, every  comfort  of  the  flesh,  every  longing  aspira- 
tion of  the  soul,  must  be  quelled  and  subdued  until 
the  great  end  is  won." 

M.  Morel  had  begun  sj^eaking  thus  in  liis  usually 
calm  manner,  but,  as  he  went  on,  his  voice  assumed 
a  deep  and  thrilling  tone,  and  his  severe,  dark  eye 
kindled  with  spiritual  enthusiasm.     Madeleine  had 


MADELEINE.  99 


understood  the  drift  of  his  words  more  than  their 
literal  sense,  but  she  replied  with  her  usual  simplicity, 
"  You  speak  of  saints,  sir,  and  I  am  only  an  ignorant 
peasant  girl." 

M.  Morel's  glance  again  fell  upon  Madeleine.  She 
stood  before  him  plain  and  unpretending,  and  look- 
ing indeed  no  more  than  a  poor  ignorant  peasant 
girl.  Yet  there  was  serenity  and  determination  in 
her  features  ;  tliey  told  not  of  doubt  or  of  shrinking, 
but  of  a  strong  and  enduring  though  gentle  spirit. 
The  priest  was  satisfied. 

"I  will  only  ask  you  another  question,  Madeleine," 
he  observed.  "  To  me,  I  say  it  again,  your  thought 
seems  a  divine  inspiration ;  but  do  you  believe  that 
there  is  in  you  the  power  of  executing  your  task  ?" 

Madeleine  remained  a  while  silent,  but  she  at 
length  looked  up,  and,  fixing  her  earnest  look  on  M. 
Morel,  calmly  replied, 

"I  believe,  sir,  that  since  God  gave  me  the  thought, 
he  will  also  give  me  the  power." 

"  Oh !  faith,  holy,  perfect  faith,  what  canst  thou 
not  overcome !"  exclaimed  the  cure  of  Puysaye  in  a 
low  though  thrilling  tone.  "  Madeleine,"  he  con- 
tinued aloud,  "  I  see  you  are  prepared ;  it  is  well, 
for  there  will  be  many  thorns  in  your  path  ;  but  trust 
to  the  faith  within  you  and  fear  not.  I  shall  see  you 
again ;  go  in  peace." 

Madeleine  thanked  him  quietly.  Strange  and  un- 
expected as  had  been  the  success  of  her  suit,  and 
encouraging  as  was  the  reception  she  had  received, 
she  now  seemed  more  grateful  than  elated.  Her 
faith  was  so  true  and  deeply  rooted  that  it  lay  beyond 
the  reach  of  praise  or  blame,  and  the  one  could  no 


100  MADELEINE. 


more  urge  her  on,  than  it  was  in  the  power  of  the 
other  to  deter  her. 

"  You  seem  thoughtful,  brother,"  hesitatingly  ob- 
served M.  Bignon  to  his  friend,  when  Madeleine  had 
left  them. 

"  Yes,  I  was  thinking  of  her,  of  this  peasant  girl — 
so  plain  in  speech  and  look  too ;  but  God  chooses  his 
own  instruments,  and  the  more  humble  they  are  the 
greater  is  his  glor}'.  I  must  see  her  again,  and  speak 
to  her,"  he  added  after  a  short  pause,- and  he  fell 
once  more  into  a  fit  of  musing,  from  which  the  nive 
of  Mont-Saint-Jean  forbore  to  arouse  him. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

TiiE  following  week  saw  Madeleine  in  possession 
o^.'  farmer  Nicolas's  house,  which  the  owner  let  her 
hare  for  the  price  she  had  offered.  Some  said  that 
M.  Bignon's  eloquence  had  persuaded  him  to  this 
extraordinary  concession,  for  farmer  Nicolas  was  what 
is  generally  termed  a  hard  man ;  but  others  asserted 
that  M.  Morel  had  agreed  to  pay  the  difference,  and 
had  thus  overcome  his  scruples  in  the  most  effectual 
manner.  It  was  not  without  a  feelino;  of  reo;ret  that 
Madeleine  left  her  old  dwelling  near  the  little  church- 
yard ;  che  loved  this  quiet  sjoot  for  its  silence  and 
solitude,  and  she  felt  more  sorrow  in  parting  from  it 
than  might  have  been  anticipated  from  one  of  her 
apparently  calm  character. 

"  "What  ails  you,  Madeleine  V  asked  Marie  Michon 
of  her  friend  on  the  day  of  the  removal.    The  old 


MADELEINE.  101 


people  were  gone ;  the  little  farniture  Madeleine 
possessed  had  already  been  transported  to  her  new 
abode,  yet  she  still  lingered  on  the  threshold  of  the 
now  silent  and  deserted  dwelling. 

"  Marie,"  she  replied,  in  a  voice  that  grew  slightly 
tremulous  as  she  spoke,  "  I  have  been  happy  here ; 
my  heart  clings  to  this  old  place ;  how  often  have 
I  sat  on  this  very  threshold  in  the  sunshine,  singing 
the  ballads  my  father  had  taught  me !  When  he 
died,  and  they  laid  him  in  the  churchyard,  I  felt  that 
I  was  still  near  him ;  but  his  grave  will  be  lonely 
now !  Yes,  I  have  been  happy  here ;  it  was  by  this 
window  that  I  used  to  pray  in  the  evening.  When 
shall  I  pray  and  live  here  again,  Marie  ?" 

There  were  tears  in  her  eyes  as  she  spoke  thus. 
Marie  silently  wondered  at  this,  for  she  had  beheld 
Madeleine  bear  far  greater  sorrows  with  what  seemed 
to  her  more  than  human  fortitude.  She  could  not 
see  what  was  then  passing  in  her  friend's  mind ;  she 
could  not  know  how  the  dreams  of  her  youth,  of  her 
love,  of  her  fervent  faith,  of  all  that  had  once  been 
dear  to  her,  were  linked  with  this  homely  dwelling, 
and  now  filled  her  heart  to  overflowins;.  But,  thouo-h 
not  above  the  yearnings  of  humanity,  Madeleine 
seldom  vielded  to  them  long ;  an  inward  voice  soon 
bade  her  think  of  the  task  before  her,  and  hush  the 
earthly  thoughts  that  rose  up  as  though  to  bar  her 
path ;  her  momentary  sadness  passed  away,  and  she 
resumed  her  usual  serenity ;  yet,  as  she  closed  the 
door  of  her  former  home,  and  turned  away  from  it, 
she  could  not  help  looking  back  and  exclaiming  in 
a  fervent  tone,  "  May  the  blessing  of  God  be  with 
thee."     These  words  she  repeated  several  times,  as 


102  MADELEINE, 


though  unconscious  of  Marie's  presence.  She  re- 
mained silent  whilst  they  walked  together  along  the 
path  leading  to  Mont-Saint-Jean,  but  when  they  had 
almost  reached  the  village,  she  stood  still,  and  earn- 
estly observed, 

"  Marie,  I  think  I  shall  go  back  there  to  die.  Yes," 
she  thoughtfully  continued,  "  with  God's  will  it  shall 
be  so !" 

"  What  a. strange  girl  she  is,"  thought  Marie ;  "  she 
talks  about  death  as  though  it  was  merely  a  journey 
from  one  place  to  another." 

Marie's  surmise  was  more  correct  than  she  ima- 
gined, for  to  Madeleine  death  seemed  indeed  no  more 
than  the  exchange  of  an  earthl}'^  for  a  heavenly  home. 

"Whatever  her  feelings  might  be  on  the  subject  of 
her  removal,  Madeleine  did  not  allow  them  to  inter- 
fere with  her  plans.  She  reconciled  herself  to  her 
new  abode,  and  spared  nothing  to  render  it  as  com- 
fortable as  its  inmates  could  w^isli  it  to  be.  Though 
she  had  declared  to  the  cure  that  the  house  was  capa- 
ble of  containing  seven  or  eight  persons,  Madeleine 
now  saw  that  it  might  be  made  to  hold  ten ;  and,  on 
discovering  this,  she  could  not  find  it  in  her  heart  to 
allow  it  to  remain,  as  she  said,  half  useless.  She  was 
therefore  no  sooner  settled  in  her  present  dwelling, 
with  Mother  Pierre,  Catherine,  and  old  Michel,  than 
she  began  seeking  for  other  inmates.  The  first  she 
took  in  was  a  paralytic  old  man.  He  was  not  quite 
destitute,  for  he  had  several  grown-up  sons  and  daugh- 
ters, but  they  treated  him  wuth  harshness  and  neglect, 
and,  when  Madeleine  ofl'ered  to  take  him  under  her 
care,  showed  themselves  glad  to  get  rid  of  him. 
Tliey  liinted,  at  the  same  time,  almost  within  the  old 


MADELEINE.  lOo 


man's  hearing,  that  it  was  verj  strange  in  aged 
people  to  live  so  long  after  thej  had  ceased  to  be 
any  thing  but  a  nuisance  upon  earth.  They  also 
added,  that  Madeleine  would  find  him  of  a  harsh  and 
disagreeable  disposition.  She  saw  that  the  old  man 
had  indeed  a  sour  and  repulsive  aspect,  but  nothing 
could  discourage  her ;  and,  though  warned  by  every 
one  that  she  would  have  occasion  to  rej^ent  her  char- 
ity, she  persisted  in  taking  home  old  Joseph.  Her 
next  inmate  was  a  poor  abandoned  idiot  girl,  who 
had  come  nobody  knew  whence,  and  lived  on  what- 
ever the  villagers  gave  her.  Two  more  old  women, 
one  of  whom  was  afflicted  with  a  horrible  cancer  ;  a 
middle-aged  man,  disabled  for  life  by  an  accident, 
which  rendered  him  a  burden  to  his  family,  instead 
of  his  being  able  to  support  them  ;  and  a  poor  beggar, 
blind  from  his  infancy,  were  her  other  guests. 

Madeleine  had  before  been  called  foolish,  but  every 
one  now  agreed  that  she  was  mad.  How  could  she 
expect  to  support  ten  persons,  and  pay  a  heavy  rent 
besides  ?  "When  any  one  put  this  question  to  Mad- 
eleine, she  candidly  confessed  that  her  means  were 
small,  but  she  always  added  her  favorite  axiom,  "  that 
Providence  was  good." 

Still  it  was  universally  declared,  that,  though  her 
intentions  were  excellent,  her  scheme  would  prove  a 
fiiilure ;  it  was  impossible  to  be  otherwise.  Summer 
passed  away,  however,  and  Madeleine  persevered  in 
her  task.  She  paid  her  rent;  provided  good  and 
plentifid  food  for  her  pensioners  ;  took  care  that  they 
should  alwa^'S  be  decently  clad ;  and  did  not  seem 
disposed  to  break  up  her  charitable  establishment. 

People  now  began  to  change  their  opinion.    Some 


104  MADELEINE. 


said  that  Madeleine  had  found  a  hidden  treasure  in 
the  old  churchyard ;  others,  more  pious,  thought  a 
daily  miracle  was  performed  in  her  favor.  Tliey 
went  so  far  as  to  assert,  that,  though  she  had  only 
put  one  sack  of  meal  in  it,  her  huche  was  never 
empty.  To  those  who  questioned  her  on  the  subject, 
Madeleine's  answers  might,  however,  have  shown 
very  clearly  that  the  only  miracles  or  treasm-es  to 
which  she  could  lay  claim  were  ingenuity,  perse- 
verance, and  industry. 

When  surprise  was  expressed  that  she  could  sup- 
port so  many  persons,  Madeleine  never  failed  to  re- 
mark, that  six  of  her  nine  guests,  being  infirm  and 
old,  ate  sparingly,  which  necessarily  lessened  the  ex- 
pense of  their  maintenance.  The  income  which  she 
derived  from  her  few  acres  of  land,  and  from  her 
house  near  the  cemetery,  which  she  had  let  to  a 
family  of  peasants,  shortly  after  leaving  it,  sufficed 
to  pay  the  rent  of  her  present  abode.  The  relatives 
of  her  guests  also  made  it  a  point  to  contribute  to 
their  support,  by  occasional  presents  of  meal  or 
vegetables ;  and  the  most  wealthy  of  the  villagers, 
who  all  took  great  interest  in  her  success,  aiforded 
Madeleine  every  assistance  in  their  j)ower.  Her 
earnings,  the  produce  of  her  garden,  and,  as  she 
emphatically  observed,  the  blessing  of  God,  did  the 
rest.  As  the  value  of  her  time  was  well  api)reciated 
by  her  pensioners,  they  aided  her  as  much  as  their 
infirmities  would  allow.  The  task  of  attending  on 
the  woman  afflicted  with  the  cancer  was  however  left 
to  her ;  the  young  girl  alone  had  fortitude  enough  to 
approach  this  unhappy  being.  Every  one  in  the  vil- 
lage liked,  moreover,  to  do  something  for  Madeleine 


MADELEINE.  105 


The  young  men  were  always  ready  to  give  her  garden 
an  hour's  work  at  any  time,  so  that  she  seldom  had 
to  touch  it  herself;  and,  whenever  the  women  went 
to  wash  their  own  linen  at  one  of  the  neighboring 
streams,  they  never  failed  to  call  upon  Madeleine 
and  take  a  little  parcel  of  her  things.  "  It  did  not 
make  much  difference  to  them,  and  it  was  so  much 
the  less  for  poor  Madeleine  to  do." 

Notwithstanding  the  aid  she  thus  received,  Made- 
leine i^erceived  at  the  end  of  the  summer  that  her 
expenses  exceeded  her  income.  It  then  occurred  to 
her  that  the  fruit  in  her  garden  was  very  fine,  and 
might  fetch  a  good  price  in  the  neighboring  town. 
M.  Bignon  approved  the  idea,  and  offered  to  lend  her 
his  mare,  in  order  to  go  and  sell  it  herself.  She  ac- 
cepted, and  accordingly  set  off  one  morning  for  the 

town  of  C ,  mounted  on  the  back  of  ]ia  Grise, 

with  a  pannier  of  frait  on  either  side  of  her.  Though 
her  journey,  one  of  about  twenty  miles,  was  the 
longest  she  had  yet  taken,  Madeleine  felt  neither 
flurried  nor  discomposed.  She  arrived  safely  at 
C ,  sold  her  fruit  to  the  best  advantage,  and  re- 
turned with  several  five-franc  pieces  in  her  pocket, 
well  satisfied  with  the  result  of  her  expedition.  En- 
com-aged  by  this  success,  she  went  twice  again  to 

C during  the  autumn.     Farmer  Is  icolas  declared 

that  the  garden  had  never  yielded  so  much  fruit  be- 
fore, and  that  he  ought  to  raise  the  rent.  Some  peo- 
ple said  it  was  all  the  work  of  Providence.  The  more 
vrorldly-minded  spoke  of  the  forbearance  of  the  vil- 
lage boys,  on  whom  Madeleine's  gentleness  had  pro- 
duced a  more  beneficial  effect  than  all  the  former 
threats  and  constant  watching  of  Farmer  Nicolas,  so 

5* 


lOG  MADELEINE, 


that  even  the  profane  Lads  who  did  not  scruple  to 
Bteal  M.  Bignon's  half-ripe  pears,  would  not  have  laid 
a  finger  on  her  most  ripe  and  tempting  peaches. 
Madeleine  rewarded  their  forbearance  by  gathering 
them  around  her,  during  the  long  summer  evenings, 
when  she  sat  on  the  door-step  of  her  dwelling,  and 
told  them  stories  from  her  Sacred  History,  or  sang 
some  of  her  old  ballads  for  their  amusement. 

M.  Morel,  who  took  deep  interest  in  Madeleine, 
was  of  great  assistance  to  her  now.  He  gave  her 
little  save  advice,  which  was  all  that  he  could  spare, 
but  that  was  excellent.  Madeleine  proved  a  docile 
pupil,  and  she  often  improved  on  her  instructor's 
hints.  Her  house  soon  became  a  model  of  neatness 
and  comfort  for  the  wild  district  in  which  she  lived. 
Her  garden  was  carefully  cultivated,  and  stocked 
with  medicinal  herbs,  of  which  the  priest  taught  her 
the  various  properties.  "With  a  little  money  which  he 
advanced  she  purchased  a  goat  and  a  few  hens.  She 
soon  learned  to  make  excellent  cheese  from  the  goat's 
milk,  and  the  eggs  laid  by  the  hens  proved  exceed- 
ingly useful.  The  money  being  repaid  in  small  sums, 
the  cost  was  scarcely  felt.  M.  Morel  likewise  gave 
Madeleine  many  useful  receipts,  all  tending  to  save 
something,  either  in  fuel  or  in  the  consumption  of 
food.  She  was  much  surprised  to  learn  from  him  the 
value  of  things  she  had  looked  upon  hitherto  as  wholly 
useless.  This  was  excellent  for  manure,  that  would 
do  for  the  hens,  in  short,  every  thing  was  applied  to 
Bome  useful  purpose ;  and,  though  each  separate  piece 
of  economy  was  trifling  in  itself,  the  whole  j)ut  to- 
gether became  of  real  importance.  It  was  chiefly 
through  this  excellent  management  that  Madeleine 


MADELEINE.  107 


was  enabled  to  support  her  large  family  during  the 
whole  summer,  with  evezy  requisite  comfort. 

When  winter  came  on,  however,  her  resources  les- 
sened, though  her  expenses  remained  the  same.  With- 
out allowing  herself  to  be  dismayed,  Madeleine,  accord- 
ing to  her  custom  in  difficulties,  had  recourse  to  j)rayer, 
and  then  applied  the  homely  proverb,  "  Help  thyself 
and  heaven  will  help  thee."     It  occurred  to  her,  on 
seeing  old  Catherine  knitting  herself  a  j)air  of  stock- 
ings for  the  winter,  that  some  of  her  pensioners  might 
thus  employ  their  leisure,  and  add  to  her  earnings. 
Those  who  were  able  to  work  entered  into  her  views, 
and  in  a  short  time  several  dozen  pairs  of  woollen 
stockings  were  produced.   Madeleine  knew  they  could 
not  be  sold  in  the  village,  where  the  women  were  all 
expert  in  this  branch  of  female  industry,  but  the  next 
time  a  pedler  stopped  at  her  door,  she  asked  him  to 
purchase  her  little  stock.     The  pedler  wanted  to  sell 
and  not  to  buy,  and  it  was  with  some  difficulty  ho 
agreed  to  take  the  stockings  for  little  more  than  the 
cost  of  the  materials.     The  next  time  he  called,  there 
were  plenty  more  stockings  ready  for  him,  but  he  re- 
fused to  take  even  a  few  j^airs,  alleging  that  they  were 
too  difficult  to  be  disposed  of.     Madeleine  now  began 
to  think  that  fancy  knitting  might  prove  more  suc- 
cessful.    But  who  was  to  teach  her  the  art  in  Mont- 
Saint- Jean,  where  its  name  was  almost  imknown?" 
though  she  recollected  having  seen,  a  long  time  ago, 
a  counterpane  of  different  colored  worsteds  in  the 
possession  of  a  travelling  pedler,  who  asked  a  high 
price  for  it.     Madeleine  was  somewhat  embarrassed, 
when  it  occurred  to   her  that  Dame  Ursula,  who 
boasted  of  her  skill  in  every  branch  of  female  in- 


108  MADELEINE 


clustiy,  might  jjossess  some  knowledge  of  this.  She 
accordingly  called  upon  her  one  evening,  and,  ex- 
plaining the  object  of  her  visit,  requested  her  assist- 
ance. Dame  Ursula  loved  Madeleine,  at  least  she 
said  so,  and  she  certainly  gave  her  now  an  heroic 
proof  of  her  friendship.  She  confessed,  though  of 
course  it  was  through  no  want  of  ability,  but  merely 
because  she  cared  little  for  such  things,  that  she  did 
not  understand  fancy  knitting.  But — and  here  was 
the  heroism — Mademoiselle  Antoinette  was  a  great 
proficient  in  the  art,  and  would,  she  knew,  be  very 
happy  to  give  her  any  necessary  instructions.  She 
would  go  to  see  her  the  very  same  day,  and  request 
her  assistance  in  Madeleine's  name.  There  is  some- 
thing pleasant  in  true  magnanimity,  and.  Dame 
Ursula,  who  felt  very  magnanimous,  accordingly  paid 
a  ceremonious  visit  to  her  rival,  and  explained  tho 
object  of  her  visit.  Mademoiselle  Antoinette  had 
heard  her  master  sjDcak  highly  of  Madeleine,  she  was 
therefore  all  willingness  to  assist  her,  and  received 
Dame  Ursula  with  great  courtesy. 

In  a  few  days  Madeleine  knew  several  iancy 
stitches,  and  in  another  week  she  began  a  counter- 
pane which,  though  not  without  reproach,  promised 
to  be  finished  speedily.  But  when  she  was  perfectly 
mistress  of  the  art,  and  ready  to  impart  it  to  her 
pensioners^  Madeleine  discovered  that  they  were  not 
likely  to  prove  very  ready  pupils.  They  were  cer- 
tainly willing  to  learn,  but  they  were  old  ;  they  had 
been  accustomed  to  plain  knitting  for  years,  the  in- 
tricacies of  the  new  system  puzzled  them  exceeding- 
ly, and  they  went  so  often  wi-ong,  and  committed 
60  many  mistakes,  tliat  their  labor  proved  almost 


MADELEINE.  100 

worthless.  Madeleine  did  not  allow  herself  to  be 
discouraged ;  she  renewed  her  instructions  with  the 
greatest  patience  ;  but  when  weeks  had  elapsed  and 
Catherine,  her  most  proficient  pupil,  seemed  as  much 
embarrassed  as  ever,  she  began,  though  not  without 
a  feeling  of  regret,  to  think  of  abandoning  the  plan 
as  hopeless.  One  day  when,  after  giving  the  old  wo- 
man her  lesson,  this  thought  again  occurred  to  her, 
she  noticed  with  surj)rise  that,  as  soon  as  Cathe- 
rine had  laid  down  her  work,  in  order  to  go  into  the 
garden,  Annette,  the  idiot  girl,  who  happened  to  be 
present,  quietly  took  it  up.  Madeleine  said  nothing, 
but  watched  her  attentively.  To  her  infinite  astonish- 
ment she  saw  that  girl,  who,  either  through  stubborn- 
ness or  stupidity,  had  obstinately  refused  to  knit  a 
stocking  a  few  weeks  previously,  now  do  several 
rounds  of  this  intricate  stitch  with  the  greatest  neat- 
ness and  accuracy.  Madeleine,  delighted  to  see  her 
display  this  proof  of  intelligence,  immediately  went 
up  to  her  and  praised  her  skill.  Annette  drew  her- 
self up  with  conscious  pride,  and  knitted  with  still 
greater  rapidity. 

"  Do  you  know  any  stitch  besides  this  ?"  asked 
Madeleine,  after  watching  her  for  a  while. 

Annette  nodded  affirmatively,  and,  drawing  from 
her  pocket  a  set  of  knitting  needles  with  which  she 
had  been  practising  in  secret,  began  knitting  before 
Madeleine  every  one  of  the  stitches  which  she  had 
endeavored  to  teach  old  Catherine. 

Madeleine's  astonishment  increased.  She  found  it 
difficult  to  reconcile  the  degree  of  talent  now  mani- 
fested by  Annette  wdth  her  natural  deficiency  of  in- 
tellect ;  but,  though  she  could  not  understand  it,  tho 


110  MADELEINE. 


fact  was  indisputable,  and  a  little  reflection  showed 
her  of  what  advantage  it  might  now  prove  to  her 
plans.  She  drew  Annette  towards  her  and  laid  her 
hand  npon  her  head,  for  she  had  noticed  that  even 
this  simple  act  enabled  her  to  exercise  more  control 
over  the  wayward  temper  of  the  idiot  girl,  and,  look- 
ing into  her  face  with  her  grave  yet  serene  glance, 
she  gently  said,  "  Annette,  you  know  that  I  am  poor, 
that  I  want  money,  will  you  help  me  to  earn  some 
by  knitting  me  a  counterpane  ?" 

A  strange  and  disagreeable  exj)ression  oversj^read 
Annette's  features ;  to  ask  her  to  do  any  thing  was 
almost  to  insure  a  refusal,  but,  though  Madeleine 
knew  this,  she  neither  saw  nor  wished  to  emj)loy  any 
other  method  of  attaining  her  aim,  save  the  direct 
and  open  one.  She  perceived,  however,  that  on  this 
occasion  Annette  hesitated  to  utter  a  refusal,  and  this 
led  her  to  renew  her  request  in  the  same  calm  tone, 
and  almost  in  the  same  words  which  she  had  already 
used. 

Annette  seemed  troubled  and  annoyed.  She  turned 
away  her  eyes,  and  then  involuntarily  fixed  them 
once  more  on  Madeleine's  calm  countenance,  now 
looking  down  upon  her.  It  would  be  hard  to  tell 
what  thoughts  then  passed  across  her  darkened 
mind  ;  perhaps  it  was  the  mild  look  which  met  hers 
that  moved  her,  or  it  might  be  the  sense  of  j)ower 
implied  by  Madeleine's  attitude,  for,  with  sudden 
and  unwonted  alacrity,  she  replied, 

"  Yes,  I  will." 

The  counterpane  was  begun  the  same  day,  and 
finished  in  two  weeks ;  though  the  materials  were 
coarse,  the  work  was  so  fine  and  delicate  that  Made- 


MADELEINE.  Ill 


moiselle  Antoinette  declared  she  had  seen  nothing 
like  it  during  the  whole  course  of  her  experience. 
When  the  pedler  came  again,  he  agreed  to  purchase 
the  article,  and  gave  what  he  said  was  a  fair  price, 
though  much  below  its  real  value. 

From  this  time  forward  Madeleine  devoted  all  her 
instructions  to  Annette.  The  rapidity  with  which 
the  poor  girl  seized  on  and  imitated  every  thing  done 
before  her  was  truly  wonderful,  and  could  only  be 
equalled  by  the  delicacy  and  finish  of  her  execution. 
It  was  chiefly  on  this  account  that  her  work  always 
secured  a  good  price,  and  became,  in  time,  of  con- 
siderable value  to  Madeleine. 

Thus  one  of  the  most  helpless  and  destitute  beings 
which  she  had  taken  under  her  care,  assisted  her 
most  in  carrying  on  her  x^ious  task. 


CHAPTER  X. 

By  adopting  the  means  detailed  in  the  last  chapter, 
Madeleine  had  the  satisfaction  of  beino-  able  to  main- 
tain  her  pensioners  in  a  state  of  comfort.  She  even 
found  it  in  her  power  to  relieve  the  most  distressed 
amongst  the  villagers  of  Mont-Saint-Jean,  to  whom 
the  winter  was  always  particularly  severe. 

We  have  explained  the  different  methods  which 
Madeleine  successively  took  to  administer  to  the 
physical  wants  of  her  family,  without  alluding  to  her 
manner  of  governing  it.  This  was  exceedingly  sim- 
ple.    Her  first  principle  was  that  dictated  by  natural 


112  MADELEINE, 


right — equality.  She  found  it,  however,  more  diffi- 
cult to  apply  than  she  could  have  imagined.  In  tho 
first  place,  her  pensioners  had  brought  with  them  a 
fierce  spirit  of  strife,  which  is  too  often  a  character- 
istic of  the  sufiering  poor.  Madeleine  had  the  great- 
est difficulty  in  eradicating  this  feeling.  Old  Mother 
Pierre  and  her  friend  Catherine  agreed  very  well 
together,  but  dissension  reigned  among  the  rest. 
Madeleine  was  grieved,  for  she  loved  peace ;  she  re- 
monstrated, but  seeing  that  she  produced  no  effect, 
she  resolved  to  examine  into  the  cause  of  the  evil. 
She  discovered  that  it  chiefly  proceeded  from  selfish- 
ness. Thus,  for  instance,  old  Catherine  had  a  small 
looking-glass,  which,  though  she  only  used  it  once 
a  day,  she  churlishly  refused  to  lend  to  any  of  her 
companions,  lest  it  should  be  broken.  This  so  of- 
fended one  of  the  old  dames  that,  when  the  cold  wea- 
ther came  on,  she  would  never  consent,  notwithstand- 
ing Madeleine's  entreaties,  to  allow  Catherine  to 
wear  an  old  shawl  of  hers,  w^hich,  as  she  had  two  far 
better  ones,  was  almost  useless  to  her.  Catherine 
wanted  some  covering  ;  Madeleine  was  therefore 
obliged  to  buy  her  a  coarse  flannel  cloak,  and,  as  she 
was  then  rather  short  of  money,  the  comforts  of  the 
whole  family  had  to  be  restricted  for  more  than  a 
week  in  consequence.  Several  similar  instances 
amongst  the  other  pensioners  convinced  Madeleine 
that  it  was  her  duty  to  interfere ;  she  was  resj^onsible 
for  the  support  of  the  family,  and  it  only  seemed  right 
that  she  should  exert  some  authority  over  it,  espe- 
cially when  that  control  was  intended  for  the  general 
good.  One  day,  accordingly,  she  assembled  lier  chil- 
dren, as  she  loved  to  call  them,  around  her,  and. 


MADELEIKE.  113 


in  a  gentle  thongli  firm  tone,  explained  to  them 
that  a  better  feeling  must  henceforth  reign  amongst 
them. 

"  You  are  all  children  of  the  one  God,"  said  she 
gently ;  "  he  gives  you  food  and  shelter  equally ;  why 
should  you  not  also  share  his  other  gifts  ?  I  do  not 
mean  to  bid  some  deprive  themselves  of  what  is  need- 
ful to  them,  in  order  to  give  it  to  others ;  but  let  those 
who  have  more  than  they  want  give  to  those  who 
have  not  enough." 

If  Madeleine,  however,  had  uttered  blasphemy,  a 
greater  outcry  could  not  have  been  made  by  her  pen- 
sioners than  that  which  arose  amongst  them  on  hear- 
ing this  ;  even  the  poorest  had  some  article  of  which 
they  feared  to  be  deprived  under  this  new  law,  and 
all  united  in  agreeing  that  it  would  be  much  better 
for  matters  to  stay  as  they  were,  and  each  to  remain 
master  of  his  own. 

"  Very  well,"  calmly  said  Madeleine.  "  But  if  this 
must  be  the  case,  mind  it  shall  be  so  for  every  one 
amongst  you." 

They  all  declared  that  this  was  only  just. 

"  Then,"  continued  Madeleine,  "  what  shall  we  do 
without  Annette's  gains?  For,  though  she  wants 
many  things,  you  know  that  the  money  she  earned 
often  gave  us  food  w^hen  we  could  not  have  got  it 
otherwise.  But  henceforth  it  must  be  spent  on  hei 
alone  ;  for  God  forbid  that  we  should  wrong  her  of  that 
which  is  her  own,  because  she  has  not  knowledge." 

This  argument  produced  a  much  better  effect  than 
more  powerful  reasoning  would  have  done.  It  had 
not  occurred  to  those  who  so  selfishly  refused  to  aid 
one  another,  that,  if  this  principle  had  been  applied 


114  MADELEINE 


bj  others  to  their  own  case,  they  would  not  only 
have  never  been  received  by  Madeleine,  but  could 
not  even,  with  any  thing  like  justice,  have  j)i*ofited 
by  Annette's  gains,  which,  as  she  truly  said,  had 
often  given  them  food.  After  a  little  more  hesitation 
they  submitted,  though  with  evident  reluctance,  to 
Madeleine's  proposed  plan  of  equality. 

Madeleine  did  not  appear  to  notice  their  displeas- 
ure, but  immediately  applied  her  system ;  she  used, 
however,  the  greatest  moderation  in  doing  so,  never 
taking  from  her  pensioners  any  articles  but  those 
which  could  be  of  little  use  to  them.  As  they  were 
all  poor,  she  effected  very  few  changes  uj)on  the 
whole,  her  chief  object  being  to  establish  the  prin- 
ciple, and  restore  harmony  among  the  family.  One 
of  her  first  acts  was  to  proclaim  old  Catherine's  look- 
ing-glass public  property. 

"  Do  not  be  angry  with  me,  Catherine,"  said  she, 
noticing  her  chagrin,  "  the  glass  is  still  yours  ;  only, 
as  you  cannot  want  to  use  it  all  the  day  long,  lend  it 
to  others  who  have  none.  If  it  is  broken  it  shall  be 
replaced.  Do  you  not  see  that  you  gain  by  this ;  for, 
as  long  as  you  kept  your  glass  to  yourself,  Marianne 
would  not  let  you  have  a  yard  of  her  piece  of  tape  ? 
It  is  now  yours  as  well  as  hers,  and  you  can  take  as 
much  of  it  as  you  want." 

"  Well,  I  supjDose  you  are  right,  Madeleine,"  pet- 
tishly replied  the  old  dame ;  "  but  1  would  sooner 
keej)  my  looking-glass  to  myself,  and  let  Marianne 
have  her  tape." 

Although  she  could  not  please  everyone,  Madeleine 
persevered  in  her  plan  ;  she  paid,  however,  the  most 
scrupulous  attention  that  equality  should  really  reign 


MADELEINE.  115 


amongst  the  members  of  her  family.  She  did  not 
exact  that  they  shoukl  wear  a  uniform  costume,  and 
left  them  perfect  freedom  as  to  the  color  and  mate- 
rials of  their  dress ;  but  she  took  care  that  the  articles 
should  all  be  of  equal  value.  Whatever  piece  of  fur- 
niture she  purchased,  she  always  declared  to  be  for 
general  use ;  she  would  never  allow  it  to  be  called 
her  own.  Her  example,  of  course,  contributed  to 
render  her  pensioners  resigned  to  their  fate,  which 
was  not  a  very  unhappy  one.  Many  of  them,  never- 
theless, made  occasional  attempts  to  undermine  her 
system,  but  they  always  failed  in  their  object.  Though 
she  said  little,  Madeleine  had  a  quiet  strength  of  will, 
before  which  all  yielded  instinctively.  It  was  not 
indeed  in  her  nature  to  take  a  resolve  and  retract  from 
it  afterwards.  She  had  none  of  that  obstinacy  which 
is  so  often  termed  firmness,  but  she  never  acted  with- 
out having  first  thought  maturely  c»n  the  subject,  and 
convinced  herself  that  she  was  in  the  right.  It  was 
not  to.  her  own  opinion  that  she  adhered,  but  to  the 
truth  that  was  in  it.  This  trait  in  her  character  had 
contributed  to  give  Madeleine  great  influence  over 
the  helpless  beings  she  had  taken  under  her  care ; 
they  all  saw  that  when  she  did  any  thing  it  was  for 
their  good ;  though  it  might  be  unpleasant  to  them, 
they  could  not  help  loving  and  respecting  her ;  the 
last  feeling  even  predominated,  and,  as  if  by  com- 
mon consent,  though  many  of  them  were  more  than 
three  times  her  age,  they  all  called  her  "  their  moth- 
er." She  indeed  provided  for  them,  and  saw  to  all 
their  wants  with  truly  maternal  solicitude ;  and  it 
was  perhaps  the  protection  she  thus  exercised  over 
them  that  had  induced  her  unconsciously  to  take  tho 


116  MADELEINE. 


habit  of  desio-natinc:  and  addressinc;  them  collectively 
as  "  her  children." 

It  was  not  long  before  Madeleine  perceived  the 
excellence  of  the  system  she  had  adoj)ted  ;  the  quar- 
rels which  had  grieved  her  ceased  gradually,  and, 
though  occasional  disagreements  occurred,  they  were 
only  such  as  human  frailty  rendered  inevitable  ;  the 
peace,  order,  and  regularity  which  reigned  in  lier 
house,  indeed,  soon  became  proverbial  in  Mont-Samt- 
Jean.  Madeleine  was  not  possessed,  however,  by 
that  over-systematic  spirit  which  seeks  to  regulate 
rigidly  the  most  simple  occurrences  of  our  daily  life. 
She  had  appointed  no  fixed  time  for  rising  in  the 
morning,  because  some,  being  weak  and  infirm,  ne- 
cessarily wanted  more  repose  than  the  rest,  but  the 
meals  always  took  place  at  regular  hours,  and  the 
whole  family  retired  in  the  evening  at  eight  exactly, 
with  the  exception  of  Madeleine,  who  sometimes 
stayed  up  to  work. 

The  secret  of  the  peace  and  regularity  which 
marked  her  little  household  was  in  the  bond  of  love 
and  amity  which  existed  among  its  members.  A 
hareh  word  never  crossed  Madeleine''s  lips,  and, 
though  some  of  her  "  children"  were  sufiiciently 
peevish,  her  unvarying  gentleness  had  its  influence 
over  them ;  there  is  no  rebuke  so  powerful  as  silent 
patience.  The  unity  of  purpose  which  prevailed 
amongst  her  pensioners  was  likewise  to  be  attributed 
to  her  influence.  She  always  avoided  even  the  ap- 
pearance of  domination ;  she  explained  to  them  every 
one  of  her  plans,  showing  them  how  each  might  help 
her  in  furthering  them,  and,  as  those  plans  all  tended 
towards  one  end,  in  which  they  felt  equal  interest, 


MADELEINE.  117 


she  seldom  failed  iu  securing  tlieir  co-operation  so 
far  as  it  was  required.  Thus  the  household  arrange- 
ments, such  as  they  were,  were  carried  out  with  the 
greatest  order  and  regularity.  Those  whose  common 
interest  it  is  to  agree,  generall}^  do  so,  and  this  was 
exactly  the  case  with  the  members  of  Madeleine's 
family  ;  owing  to  their  heljjless  and  dependent  situa- 
tion, they  could  have  no  separate  hopes  and  wishes. 

Though  she  was  anxious  that  a  religious  feeling 
should  prevail  amongst  her  children,  Madeleine  laid 
down  no  strict  regulations  on  this  subject.  When  they 
sat  down  to  a  meal  she  never  failed  to  utter  a  short 
thanksgiving  ;  but,  unless  when  they  joined  in  public 
worship,  they  performed  no  other  act  of  devotion  in 
common :  there  was  something  more  congenial  to 
Madeleine's  spirit  in  solitary  prayer.  If  the  custom 
of  saying  grace  is  too  often  profaned  by  being  uttered 
at  boards  covered  with  all  the  luxuries  that  can  tempt 
the  palate,  it  is  always  truly  beautiful  and  affecting 
at  the  homely  table  of  the  poor.  To  one  of  Made- 
leine's strong  faith,  every  meal  was  a  direct  bounty 
from  heaven — a  kind  of  daily  miracle — which  should 
never  be  allowed  to  pass  without  acknowledgment. 

Although,  since  she  had  taken  possession  of  farmer 
Nicolas's  house,  Madeleine  had  spoken  little  on  the 
subject  of  her  intended  hospital,  the  thouglit  had  never 
for  a  moment  left  her  mind.  As  soon  as  winter  was 
over,  and  she  felt  relieved  from  present  apprehension, 
she  resolved  to  act.  ISTever,  indeed,  had  she  been  so 
strongly  convinced  of  the  necessity  of  a  hospital  in 
Mont-Saint-Jean.  Towards  the  beo-innine;  of  the 
spring  she  had  lost  two  of  her  pensioners, — Michel, 
and  the  woman  afflicted  with  the  cancer.     Tlic  old 


118  MADELEINE 


man  died  quietly,  and  almost  unconsciously,  like  a 
child  ;  the  woman  expired  in  a  state  of  great  suffer- 
ing, but  calling  down  a  blessing  upon  Madeleine's 
name  with  her  last  breath.     Her  decease,  which  had 
long  been  expected,  was  a  relief  in  every  sense  of  the 
word.     Madeleine  immediately  sought  to  fill  the  va- 
cancies which  had  thus  occurred  in  her  family  by 
taking  in  two  other  afflicted  and  unhappy  beings. 
She  soon  found  several  individuals  whose  misfortunes 
gave  them  an  equal  claim  on  her  charity,  and  her 
heart  was  filled  with  sorrowful  pity  when  she  felt 
that  she  could  not  receive  them  all.     But  even  to 
think  of  this  was  out  of  the  question  ;  she  therefore 
chose  two  of  those  who  eagerly  asked  to  be  admitted, 
and  sadly  told  the  others  that  there  was  no  room  for 
them  in  her  narrow  home  ;  she  wept  as  she  said  so, 
and  for  the  whole  of  that  day  there  was  a  cloud  of 
deep  sadness  on  her  brow.     M.  Morel  called  in  the 
evenino;,  as  was  his  custom,  when  on  a  visit  to  his 
friend ;  he  noticed  Madeleine's  melancholy,  and  in- 
quired into  its  cause.     She  told  him  :  he  heard  her 
in  silence. 

"  Ah !  sir,"  said  Madeleine,  in  a  mournful  tone, 
"  there  is  much  suffering  and  misery  in  Mont-Saint- 
Jean  ;  but  if  we  had  a  hospital  all  would  be  right 
again.  I  think  of  this  both  day  and  night,  and  I 
often  seem  to  see  a  large  handsome  house  on  the  brow 
of  the  hill,  with  a  garden  around  it,  and  the  pour 
dwelling  within  its  walls  which  have  never  seen  hun- 
ger or  misery  ;  but  it  is  a  mere  dream,  nothing  but  a 
dream,  and  when  I  waken  from  it  I  ask  myself  how 
long  the  poor  must  suffer  still,  or  when  will  the  hos- 
pital of  Mont-Saint-Jean  exist." 


MADELEINE.  119 


"  God  alone  tnows,  leave  that  to  lilm,  Madeleine," 
solemnly  replied  M.  Morel ;  "  in  the  mean  while  do 
your  appointed  task  ;  pause  not,  falter  not,  but  go  on." 

"  I  will,  I  will,"  fervently  exclaimed  Madeleine. 

"  But  how  will  you  act  ?"  asked  M.  Morel,  looking 
at  her  fixedly. 

"  Sir,"  calmly  answered  the  young  girl,  "  I  have 
been  thinking  of  this  for  some  time,  and  I  believe  the 
best  plan  will  be  to  ask  the  advice  and  assistance  of 
Monsieur  Dubois,  the  mayor ;  perhaps  through  his 
means  the  parish  might  do  something  for  the  erection 
of  the  hospital." 

"  The  thought  is  good,"  said  M.  Morel,  after  re- 
maining silent  for  a  few  minutes  ;  "  but,  though  I 
should  advise  you  to  make  the  effort,  Madeleine,  1 
do  not  think  you  will  succeed.  I  know  the  mayor  of 
Mont-Saint-Jean  :  he  is  proud  because  he  happens  to 
be  rich ;  and  thinks  himself  wise  because  he  spent  a 
few  years  in  Paris,  and  there  learned  to  turn  into  ridi- 
cule  the  faith  of  his  childhood.  From  him  I  hope 
nothing ;  go  and  see  him,  nevertheless  ;  but  if  he 
treats  you  with  contempt  or  ridicule,  heed  him  not, 
and  keep  to  the  faith  within  you." 

Madeleine  looked  up  at  M.  Morel  with  evident 
surprise :  "  Nay,  sir,"  said  she  quietly,  "  why  should 
I  care  for  contempt  or  ridicule  as  long  as  I  know  that 
Mont-Saint-Jean  does  indeed  want  a  hospital?" 

"  You  are  right,"  replied  the  priest,  eyeing  her 
earnestl}',  "  you  are  right,  Madeleine,  why  should 
you  care  for  them  ?  There  was  no  need  for  me  to 
strengthen  yom*  faith  ;  it  is  a  rare  gift,  child,  cherish 
it  and  guard  it  well." 

Madeleine  paused  in  her  work,  and  gazed  on  the 


120  MADELEINE, 


priest  with  mild  surprise  ;  slie  alwaj^s  wondered  in 
the  simplicity  of  her  heart  why  he  spoke  and  thought 
BO  much  of  her  faith,  which  to  her  seemed  so  natural. 
She  was  on  the  point  of  asking  him  on  this  occasion 
the  cause  of  this,  but  M.  Morel  suddenly  began  speak- 
ino;  of  somethino'  else,  and  she  refrained. 

At  an  early  hour  the  next  morning  Madeleine 
directed  her  steps  towards  the  mairie  of  Mont-Saint- 
Jean  ;  it  was  a  plain-looking  building,  and  only  to  be 
distinguished  from  the  houses  which  stood  near  it  by 
the  tricolored  flag  waving  over  the  door.  When 
Madeleine  entered,  the  mayor  was  alone  with  his 
official  assistant  the  adjoint.  M.  Dubois  was  a  farmer 
of  Mont-Saint-Jean,  a  good  deal  richer  than  his  fel- 
low-villagers, but  very  little  more  learned.  He  was 
a  proud,  consequential  man,  not  without  some  good 
cpialities,  but  full  of  his  dignity  and  self-importance ; 
he  was  not,  as  M.  Morel  had  truly  observed  to  Made- 
leine, very  remarkable  either  for  the  strength  of  his 
religious  feelings,  or  for  the  extent  of  his  tenderness 
to  the  poor ;  he  affected,  on  the  contrary,  to  speak  of 
the  encroachments  of  the  clergy,  and  of  the  alarming 
amount  of  vice  and  idleness  which  prevailed  amongst 
the  indigent  classes. 

Jean  Kenaud,  his  adjoint,  was  a  poor,  timid,  and 
spiritless  being,  admirably  suited  to  act  as  the  shadow 
of  a  great  man  like  M.  Dubois.  The  audacious  idea 
of  holding  any  other  opinion  than  that  of  his  superior 
on  whatsoever  subject  had  not  yet  occurred  to  him, 
and  would  probably  have  filled  him  with  dismay.  M. 
Dubois  represented  in  his  eyes  the  constituted  order 
of  things,  and  as  such  was  evidently  entitled  to  his 
respect  and  veneration ;   this  proved   of  course  ex- 


MADELEINE.  121 


ceedinglj  gratifying  to  the  mayor,  and,  to  say  the 
truth,  he  and  Renaud  went  on  very  well  together. 
They  were  engaged  in  a  comfortable  chat,  in  which 
M.  Dubois  ^va&  all  condescension,  and  Renaud  all 
submission  and  respect,  when  Madeleine  walked  into 
the  office. 

"  Oh !  Madeleine  Gueriu,  I  see,"  said  M.  Dubois 
as  he  eyed  her  somewhat  superciliously,  for,  Made- 
leine being  a  kind  of  protegee  of  the  cure,  and  M. 
Dubois  conceiving  himself  bound  in  his  quality  of 
mayor  to  resist  to  the  utmost  all  the  encroachments 
of  the  clergy,  it  would  not  have  done  to  be  too 
familiar  with  her.  "  Well,  my  good  girl,  what  do 
you  want  ?"  and  M.  Dubois  threw  himself  back  into 
his  arm-chair  with  a  very  dignified  air. 

"  I  want  your  advice  and  assistance,  sir,"  answered 
Madeleine. 

M.  Dubois  smiled  graciously,  his  stern  visage  ex- 
panded, and  he  immediately  perceived  that  Made- 
leine was  standing. 

"  Why,  Eenaud,"  said  he  sharply,  "  what  are  you 
about !  cannot  you  hand  Madeleine  a  chair  ?" 

Eenaud,  who  had  already  begun  to  eye  Madeleine 
with  affected  contempt,  immediately  started  from  his 
seat  in  a  state  of  most  officious  politeness. 

"  Well,  sir,"  observed  M.  Dubois  in  a  still  sharper 
tone  than  that  he  had  just  used,  "  I  think  you  need 
not  make  so  much  fuss  ;  the  girl  is  not  a  duchess  !" 
Renaud  drew  back  abashed.  "  You  can  speak,"  said 
the  functionary,  nodding  to  Madeleine,  on  whom  ho 
hoped  that  this  little  display  of  official  severity  had 
produced  a  proper  effect. 

Madeleine,  however,  addressed  him  ■\vithout  the 

6 


122  MADELEINE, 


least  awe  or  embarrassment.  "You  have  perhaps 
heard,  sir,"  she  calmly  observed,  "  that  dm-ing  the 
last  year  I  have  lived  in  farmer  Nicolas's  house  with 
several  old  and  sick  people,  for  whom,  through  the 
help  of  God,  I  have  been  able  to  provide."  M.  Du- 
bois nodded  affirmativel}^,  but  like  one  who,  though 
he  had  heard  of  the  facts  to  which  Madeleine  alluded, 
would  sooner  give  no  opinion  upon  them.  "Then 
you  must  also  be  aware,  sir,"  continued  Madeleine, 
"  that  there  are  a  great  many  more  poor  and  sick 
people  in  Mont-Saint-Jean,  and  that  this  winter  has 
been  particularly  severe  for  them  ?" 

"  Well,  what  about  that  ?"  sharply  asked  M.  Du- 
bois, who  sometimes  thought  the  poor  still  greater 
cncroachers  than  the  clergy. 

"Merely  this,"  calmly  answered  Madeleine,  "  that, 
as  they  ought  to  be  relieved,  I  came  to  ask  you  to 
help  me  to  learn  how  this  should  be  done." 

M.  Dubois  looked  at  her  with  amazement ;  upon 
which  Eenaud  turned  up  his  eyes,  and  lifted  up  his 
hands. 

"  And  pray,"  exclaimed  the  mayor,  in  that  j^ecu- 
liarly  mild  tone  which  often  indicates  a  feeling  very 
different  from  mildness,  "  pray  what  would  you  ad- 
vise, my  good  girl  ?" 

Madeleine  noticed  the  irony  of  his  manner  ;  it  did 
not,  however,  make  her  change  her  reply,  for  she 
composedly  observed,  "  I  think,  sir,  and  I  have 
thought  so  for  more  than  a  year,  that  there  should 
be  built  a  liospital  on  the  slope  of  the  hill  of  Mont- 
Saint-Jean  ;  there,  at  least,  the  sick  might  be  properly 
attended  to,  and  the  poor  might  find  a  home.  I 
know  that  it  would  cost  much  to  support,  but  I  trust 


MADELEINE.  12 


o 


that  God,  who  has  given  me  the  means  of  keeping 
ten  persons  with  the  help  of  a  few  kind  individuals, 
would  not  desert  me.  But  when  I  thought  of  this,  I 
soon  saw  that  to  build  a  hospital  would  be  far  above 
my  means ;  for  what  are  my  gains  but  a  woman's 
gains  ?  Then  it  occurred  to  me  to  aj)ply  to  you  for 
advice  and  assistance  ;  for  I  hoped  that  through  your 
influence  the  j)arishioners  might,  perhaps,  be  induced 
to  lend  me  a  helping  hand." 

M.  Dubois  had  by  this  time  recovered  from  his 
amazement ;  he  was  at  first  tempted  to  give  free  vent 
to  his  indignation,  and  turn  Madeleine  out  of  the 
office  at  once  for  her  pains  ;  but  it  occurred  to  him 
that  it  wonld  be  more  dignified  to  dismiss  her  with 
haughty  and  ironical  contempt.  "If  I  understand 
you  aright,"  said  he  in  a  calm  tone,  "  it  is  your  in- 
tention to  have  a  hospital  built  on  Mont-Saint- Jean  ?" 

"With  the  help  of  God,  it  is,"  answered  Made- 
leine. 

"  Yery  well,  my  good  girl,"  mildly  returned  the 
mayor,  "  I  admire  your  philanthropy,  and  the  advice 
I  have  to  give  you  is  this — build  your  hospital !  and 
mind,"  he  added  with  great  suavity,  "  whenever  you 
wish  to  try  to  make  a  fool  of  me  again,  just  call  in 
here,  and  I  will  fine  you  for  it.  But,  above  all,  do 
not  forget  to  let  me  see  your  hospital  when  it  is 
erected." 

Madeleine  looked  at  M.  Dubois  with  such  evident 
pity  that  he  had  a  mind  to  fine  her  on  the  spot  for 
impertinence. 

"  I  believe,  sir,"  she  calmly  said,  "  that  you  are 
mocking  me,  and  that  you  did  not  understand  me 
rightly.     Tlie  advice  I  asked  was,  not  whether  tho 


124  MADELEINE. 


hospital  of  Mont-Saint-Jean  should  be  built  or  not — 
for  I  laiow  very  well  that  it  will  be  built  one  day — 
but  concerning  the  means  I  should  employ  in  order 
to  erect  it.  Are  you  willing,  as  mayor  of  Mont- 
Saint-Jean,  to  help  me  in  this  ?  I  ask  to  know  no 
more." 

There  was  somethino-  in  Madeleine's  tone  and 
words  which  commanded  a  reply,  and  yet  she  spoke 
in  her  usually  calm  and  mild  manner,  and  without 
either  aifected  dignity  or  pride.  M.  Dubois  was 
more  irritated  by  her  composure  than  he  would  have 
been  by  her  ano;er,  had  she  betrayed  any. 

"  Help  you  I"  he  indignantly  rei:)lied.  To  Eenaud, 
"  She  has  the  audacity  to  ask  if  I  will  help  her ! — 
Madeleine,  I  am  a  peaceable  man,  but  it  is  as  well 
not  to  rouse  me.  You  had  better  go  and  mind  what 
I  say :  no  hospital  of  yours  shall  ever  rise  on  the  hill 
of  Mont-Saint-Jean." 

"  N'ay,"  said  Madeleine,  calmly  still,  but  coloring 
slightly  with  emotion  as  she  spoke,  "  I  thank  God 
that  it  is  not  in  your  power  to  prevent  it  from  rising 
there  one  day." 

M.  Dubois  bit  his  lip,  for  he  saw  he  had  gone  too 
far. 

"  Is  the  girl  mad  ?"  he  exclaimed  with  affected 
contempt.  "  Why,  who  talks  of  preventing  her  from 
building  her  hosj)ital  ?  All  I  mean  to  say,  my  good 
Madeleine,"  he  added  with  an  ironical  smile,  "  is, 
that  your  hospital  will  never  rise  on  the  hill  of  Mont- 
Saint-Jean,  because  you  are  too  poor  to  build  it  your- 
self, and  that  you  will  find  no  one  to  help  you  to  do 
that  which  is  impossible."  And  M.  Dubois  threw 
himself  back  in  his  chair,  and  folded  his  arras,  with 


MADELEINE.  125 


the  air  of  a  man  "who  lias  uttered  an  unanswerable 
proposition. 

"  Sir,"  quietly  replied  Madeleine,  "  I  think  you  are 
mistaken." 

M.  Dubois  looked  on  her  with  amazement,  and  re- 
peated, "  Mistaken !" 

"  Mistaken  !"  echoed  Jean  Renaud  aorhast. 

"  Yes,  I  believe  you  are  mistaken,"  composedly 
continued  Madeleine,  "  for  it  seems  to  me  that  if  God 
has  allowed  Mont-Saint- Jean  to  want  a  hospital,  it 
could  not  be  with  the  intention  that  it  should  never 
have  one." 

"  Oh !"  sneeringly  replied  the  mayor,  "  M.  Bignon, 
the  cwre,  will  explain  all  that  to  you  ;  but,  mind  what 
I  say,  it  is  impossible." 

"  Sir,"  firmly  said  Madeleine,  looking  at  him  fix- 
edly as  she  spoke,  "  that  which  is  truly  necessary  is 
never  impossible." 

There  was  a  conviction  and  energy  in  her  tone,  as 
she  uttered  these  words,  which  startled  even  the  skep- 
tical M.  Dubois ;  but,  unwilling  to  betray  this  feel- 
ing, he  coldly  observed,  "  Yery  well,  we  shall  sec ; 
but  I  really  cannot  afibrd  to  lose  more  time  on  this 
subject  to-day,"  and  the  mayor  glanced  with  a  look 
of  the  utmost  importance  towards  the  papers  and 
registers  on  the  desk  before  him. 

"  Good  morning,  sir,"  calmly  said  Madeleine,  rising, 
"  I  hope  the  day  will  come  when  you  \\\\\  think  other- 
wise than  you  do  now." 

M.  Dubois  smiled  incredulously  as  Madeleine  left 
the  office. 


126  MADELEINE. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Madeleine  went  borne  with  a  saddened  heart.  She 
had  been  prepared  for  the  major's  behavior,  and  did 
not  therefore  feel  discouraged  by  his  refusal  to  lend 
her  his  aid  ;  but  she  had  not  exjjected  to  find  him  so 
incredulous,  and  it  grieved  her  deeply  to  see  how 
little  faith  in  the  good  and  true  there  was  in  this 
world.  To  use  her  own  words,  it  always  seemed  to 
her  that  whatever  was  necessary  must  also  be  possi- 
ble ;  it  might  be  difficult,  tedious  of  achievement — 
perhaps  the  work  of  many  years,  or  of  a  whole  life, — 
but,  as  long  as  it  could  be  done,  Madeleine  thought 
this  mattered  little.  It  was  not,  however,  in  the 
power  of  M.  Dubois'  skepticism  to  distm-b  her  own 
deep  faith :  that  remained  pure,  strong,  and  unshaken. 

Accustomed  as  Madeleine  was  to  see  every  one  of 
her  schemes  oj)posed  by  those  for  whose  good  they 
were  meant,  she  had  not  expected  the  kind  of  perse- 
cution which  her  intention  of  providing  Mont-Saint- 
Jean  with  a  hospital  now  brought  down  upon  her. 
Hitherto  she  had  confided  her  plan  only  to  M.  Bi- 
gnon  and  the  ewe  of  Puysaye ;  but,  afler  her  interview 
with  M.  Dubois,  it  became  generally  known,  and  was 
Boon  the  talk  of  the  whole  village.  Every  one  was 
astonished  and  indignant.  "  How  could  Madeleine 
have  the  presumption  of  thinking  to  j^rovide  them 
with  a  kind  of  poor-house  ?  It  is  true  they  were 
wretchedly  poor,  but  M'hat  was  that  to  her  ?"  The 
next  blame  which  they  attached  to  the  young  gir] 


MADELEINE.  12? 


was,  that  her  preposterous  confidence  in  her  own  re- 
sources would  bring  them  into  ridicule :  thej  Avould 
now  be  spoken  of  as  the  fools  of  Mont-Saint- Jeau,  who 
wanted  to  build  a  hospital  without  money. 

It  -would  be  useless  to  repeat  the  other  equally  wise 
objections  which  were  raised  to  Madeleine's  plan. 
Though  she  was  grieved  to  be  so  misunderstood,  she 
evidently  set  so  little  value  on  the  remonstrances 
which  poured  in  upon  her  from  every  quarter  that 
they  ceased  to  be  oft'ered  to  her.  Yet  there  was  no- 
thing like  scorn  or  contempt  in  her  behavior;  she 
bore  the  most  painful  remarks  with  exemplary  pa- 
tience and  gentleness,  but  at  the  same  time  with  such 
a  visible  and  entire  determination  of  carrying  out  her 
plan,  and  of  conquering  in  the  end,  that  her  charac- 
ter began  to  appear  under  a  totally  new  aspect,  even 
to  those  who  knew  her  best.  Another  peculiarity  in 
her  conduct  which  sm*prised  many  individuals  was, 
that  she  never  seemed  disconcerted  or  embarrassed 
by  all  the  ironical  questions  and  remarks  addressed 
to  her. 

""Well,  Madeleine,  when  will  your  hospital  be 
built?"  was  the  general  inquiry  of  those  who  hap- 
pened to  meet  her, 

"When  it  pleases  God,"  Madeleine  usually  an- 
swered, in  a  tone  so  calm  and  composed  that  the 
questioner  found  little  more  to  say,  and  wondered 
whether  she  was  in  earnest  or  not. 

But,  with  all  her  gentleness,  Madeleine  never  al- 
lowed any  argument  against  her  ])liin  to  pass  unan- 
swered. In  the  first  place,  she  contended  that  a  hos- 
pital would  be  useful. 

"Well,  but  we  are  not  all  sick,"  once  impatiently 


128  MADELEINE. 

observed  a  woman  of  Mont-Saint-Jean  to  her,  "  and 
what  will  the  hospital  do  for  those  that  are  in  good 
health?" 

"  It  will  be  useful  to  them  also,"  said  Madeleine. 

This  assertion  seemed  so  preposterous  to  the  wo- 
man, tliat,  without  waiting  for  an  explanation,  she 
turned  away,  and  immediately  informed  every  one 
she  met  that  Madeleine  had  said  "  a  hospital  would 
be  useful  both  to  the  sick  and  the  healthy,"  which  was 
universally  pronounced  absurd. 

"  Well,  Madeleine,  how  do  you  bear  this?"  asked 
M.  Morel  one  evening  as  he  paused  before  the  thresh- 
old of  her  house,  where  Madeleine  was  sitting  as  usual 
at  her  wheel.  She  looked  wp,  and,  without  making 
any  reply,  smiled  in  a  grave  and  quiet  manner  pecu- 
liar to  her,  and  which  always  imparted  a  singular 
and  strikino;  character  to  her  features. 

"  You  are  right,"  said  M.  Morel,  translating  her 
meaning.  "  You  are  right,  Madeleine  :  smile  ;  for  it 
deserves  no  more  ;  but  what  will  you  do  now  ?" 

"  I  shall  wait,  sir,"  she  calmly  replied. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  have  to  wait  a  long  time," 
doubtfully  observed  M.  Morel. 

"  I  am  young,  sir." 

"  You  are,  Madeleine,  and  you  seem  to  enjoy  good 
health  ;  but  I  need  not  tell  you  that  the  young  may 
die  like  those  of  many  ^^ears." 

"  I  know  it,  sir,"  graA'ely  answered  Madeleine ; 
"  but  if  God  wishes  me  to  do  this  task  he  will  not  call 
me  away  before  it  is  finished." 

"  Tlicn  you  have  no  intention  of  giving  up  your 
plan  ?"  asked  M.  Morel,  after  a  short  pause. 

"  Kay,  sir ;  God  forbid,"  earnestly  replied  llifade' 


MADELEINE.  129 


lei  lie,  eyeing  liim  with  evident  surprise.  M.  Morel 
smiled  gently  and  kindly,  for  he  found  an  ever  new 
delight  in  making  Madeleine  display  her  simple  and 
fervent  faith,  which  in  many  points  strongly  resem- 
bled his  own,  and  in  some  excelled  it.  Without  ma- 
king any  reply  to  her  energetic  denial,  he  bade  hei 
good  evening,  and  passed  on. 

Besides  M.  Bignon  and  the  ciiTe  of  Puysaye,  Made- 
leine had  another  friend  who  hotly  defended  the  pru- 
dence and  excellence  of  her  intentions,  and  showed 
the  greatest  indignation  when  the  least  slur  was  cast 
upon  them.  This  was  Marie  Michon  ;  with  the  true 
instinct  of  affection,  she  drew  nearer  to  Madeleine  as 
the  persecution  increased  ;  and,  though  the  young  girl 
needed  no  external  sympathy  to  sup2:)ort  her  o"\vb 
strong  faith,  she  felt  grateful  to  her  friend.  This 
feeling  was  increased  by  the  painful  circumstances 
in  which  Marie  then  stood :  she  had  lost  her  pa- 
rents in  the  winter;  her  elder  brother,  who  had 
succeeded  them,  was  harsh  and  unkind ;  he  was 
moreover  going  to  marry,  and  had  hinted  to  his 
sister  that  she  might  provide  herself  with  some  other 
home. 

"  Marie,"  said  Madeleine  one  day,  when  Marie 
had  come  to  visit  her,  and  looked  more  melancholy 
than  usual,  "  would  you  like  to  live  with  me?" 

"  With  you,  Madeleine !"  exclaimed  Marie,  color- 
ing with  glad  surprise  :  "  are  you  in  earnest?" 

"  I  am,  and  if  you  wish  you  can  come  ;  but  do  not 
look  so  pleased,  Marie,"  she  added,  with  a  kindly 
smile,  "  for  indeed  'tis  a  poor  offer :  recollect  that  I 
have  nothing  to  give  you ;  that  you  will  have  to  wait 
on  sick  and  often  ill-tempered  old  people,  and  to  work 


130  MADELEINE. 


for  tliem,  with  little  prospect  of  gain ;  therefore  he 
not  too  glad  or  too  eager  to  come." 

"  I  will  be  glad,"  replied  Marie,  whilst  tears  rose 
to  her  eyes,  "  for  will  you  not  let  me  love  you,  Mad- 
eleine ?  and  though  I  am  poor  and  ugly,  will  you  not 
love  me  too  ?  which  is  more  than  any  one,  save  my 
poor  mother,  has  ever  yet  done :  indeed,  I  will  be 


glad." 


Marie  removed  on  the  following  day  to  her  friend's 
house,  and  the  zeal  and  even  intelligence  with  which 
she  aided  Madeleine  in  all  her  plans  of  household 
economy  soon  rendered  her  an  invaluable  companion. 

"  "What  should  I  have  done  without  thee !"  often 
observed  Madeleine,  in  a  grateful  and  afl'ectionato 
tone,  pausing  in  her  work  to  look  on  her  ever  active 
friend. 

'No  sweeter  music  could  greet  Marie's  ear  than 
those  words  uttered  by  Madeleine ;  she  felt  that  she 
was  both  useful  and  beloved,  and  the  reproach  which 
her  ugliness  might  draw  upon  her  now  lost  its  power. 

As  Madeleine  now  spoke  no  more  of  her  intended 
hospital,  but  went  on  quietly  with  her  usual  round  of 
duties,  many  persons  averred  she  had  ceased  thinking 
about  it.  But  those  who  could  imagine  this  showed 
their  entire  ignorance  of  her  character.  Never  had 
Madeleine's  mind  been  so  engrossed  by  this  one 
thought ;  and  that  "  God  would  vouchsafe  to  give 
her  the  means  of  accomplishing  her  aim,"  was  the 
first  prayer  that  rose  to  her  lips  in  the  morning  and 
the  last  that  dwelt  in  her  thoughts  at  niijht. 

Strong  as  was  her  faith  in  the  future,  Madeleine's 
plans  were,  however,  somewhat  disturbed  by  an  event 
which  occurred  towards  the  middle  of  the  spring.   A 


MADELEINE.  131 


gentleman  of  a  speculative  turn,  who  then  happened 
to  be  in  the  vicinity,  discovered  on  the  hill  of  Mont- 
Saint-Jean,  and  near  the  spot  which  Madeleine  had 
fixed  upon  as  that  best  suited  to  her  hospital,  a  spring, 
which,  according  to  him,  was  possessed  of  strong  min- 
eral virtues.  He  immediately  resolved  to  make  a 
M'atering-place  of  Mont-Saint-Jean,  and  realize  a  for- 
tune. His  first  act  was  to  purchase  the  field  in  which 
the  spring  rose,  and  a  large  tract  of  land  around  it. 

"Weil,  Madeleine,"  triumphantly  exclaimed  M, 
Dubois  to  the  young  girl,  when  he  met  Ler  a  few 
days  after  the  deed  of  sale  had  been  ])assed,  "  do  you 
think  now  your  hospital  will  ever  rise  on  the  hill  of 
Mont-Saint- Jean  ?" 

"  The  hill  is  not  the  only  spot  on  which  it  can 
rise,"  calmly  answered  Madeleine. 

But,  though  she  strove  to  bear  her  disappointment 
with  patience,  she  felt  it  keenly. 

"  For  you  see,  Marie,"  she  observed  to  her  friend, 
"  it  was,  indeed,  the  very  best  sjoot  for  it ;  being  out 
of  the  village,  the  air  is  pure,  the  ridge  of  rocks  shel- 
ters it  from  the  northern  and  eastern  winds,  and  the 
soil  around  it  is  of  the  best  quality,  as  M.  Morel  has 
often  told  me  ;  but  the  holy  will  of  God  be  done." 

In  the  mean  time  M.  Dupin,  the  speculator  who 
had  purchased  the  sj^ring  and  the  surrounding  land, 
caused  the  works  to  f)roceed  with  great  activity.  In 
less  than  a  few  montlis  a  ranije  of  low  buildinss  ca- 
pable  of  accommodating  a  sufficient  number  of  per 
sons,  and  standing  in  the  centre  of  a  large  garden, 
arose  on  the  hill.  As  it  was  necessary  that  some 
time  should  elapse  before  the  whole  could  be  fitted 
•jp  for  the  following  spring,  M.  Dupin,  who  had  until 


132  MADELEINE. 


then  superintended  the  works  in  person,  returned  to 
Paris,  his  usual  residence,  leaving  the  uniinished 
building  under  the  care  of  one  of  the  villagers.  It 
was  seldom  that  Madeleine  went  that  way,  but  when- 
ever she  did  pass  the  spot  she  could  not  smother  the 
sio-h  which  rose  with  the  thought,  "How  well  the 
hospital  M'ould  have  stood  here  !" 

The  spring,  which  had  proved  exceedingly  variable 
and  unwholesome,  was  now  past,  and  summer  drew 
on.  Madeleine  had  lost  two  of  her  patients,  old 
Mother  Pierre  and  Catherine,  who  died  within  a  fev\^ 
days  of  each  other.  Owing  to  Madeleine's  care  and 
vigilance,  the  rest  of  her  family  were  in  good  health. 
Many  individuals  had  suffered  in  the  village, — fever 
was  the  prevailing  complaint ;  and,  though  it  had  not 
yet  assumed  a  directly  contagious  character,  strong- 
fears  were  entertained  for  the  future.  The  months  of 
May  and  June  proved  more  faA'-orable,  and  partly  dis- 
pelled the  apprehensions  which  had  been  entertained. 
Towards  the  beginning  of  July,  however,  alarming 
rumors  were  once  more  afloat ;  a  strange,  unknown 
malady  had,  about  twenty  leagues  to  the  soutli  of 
Mont-Saint-Jean,  seized  on  the  population  of  a  small 
manufacturing  town,  and  swept  away  a  large  portion 
of  its  inhabitants.  This  was  at  first  no  more  than  a 
vague  tale,  but  it  soon  acquired  fearful  consistency. 
The  fever,  and  it  was  one  of  the  most  pernicious  na- 
tiire,  was  swiftly  drawing  near.  Its  fatal  effects  had 
been  witnessed  in  a  villa2:e  at  about  ten  leao-ues'  dis- 
tance  from  Mont-Saint- Jean,  where  a  farmer  with  his 
wife  and  child  had  been  carried  off  in  less  than  three 
days. 

One  evening  when  Madeleine  was  speaking  with 


MADELEINE.  133 


M.  Bignon  concerning  the  aj)proacbing  danger,  Ur- 
sula broke  in  upon  their  conference,  and  with  alarmed 
looks  announced  to  them  that  an  inhabitant  of  the 
nearest  village  was  ill  with  the  fever :  a  neighbor 
had  just  brought  the  tidings.  The  priest  shook  his 
head  sadly,  took  his  hat,  and  went  to  speak  to  the 
mayor.  On  her  way  homewards  Madeleine  saw  by 
the  pale  faces  and  anxious  looks  of  the  individuals 
who  conversed  in  groups,  that  the  news  had  spread. 
In  about  an  hour's  time  the  public  crier  went  through 
the  whole  village,  stopping  to  beat  on  his  drum  at 
every  thoroughfare,  and  proclaiming  to  the  surround- 
ing crowd  that,  as  there  was  reason  to  fear  the  fever 
would  soon  reach  Mont-Saint- Jean,  tlie  mayor  warned 
them  all  to  be  on  their  guard,  and,  on  its  first  aj)proach, 
to  apply  at  the  mairie  for  whatever  medicine  might  be 
necessary.  'No  medical  man  resided  in  the  village, 
nor  even  within  several  miles  of  it,  and  this  had  given 
rise  to  this  useful  precaution.  Madeleine  was  stand- 
ing on  the  threshold  of  her  door  with  Marie  Michon 
when  the  crier  stopped  before  the  house.  As  soon 
as  he  was  gone,  and  the  crowd  which  had  gathered 
around  him  had  dispersed,  Madeleine  turned  towards 
her  friend:  "Marie,"  said  she  earnestly,  "you  must 
promise  to  grant  me  one  request ;  it  is  this — if  I  die 
you  will  continue  to  live  in  this  house  with  my  chil- 
dren. I  do  not  ask  you  to  take  in  any  more,  because, 
if  you  wish  to  marry  or  settle  otherwise  in  life,  it 
would  be  wrong  in  me  to  prevent  you ;  but  they  are 
all  old,  with  the  exception  of  Annette ;  they  cannot 
live  long,  and  they  do  not  cost  nnich  ;  promise  me 
that  you  will  not  forsake  them." 

Marie  burst  into  tears  :  "  Oh,  Madeleine,"  she  ex- 


134:  MADELEINE. 


claimed  in  a  broken  tone,  "  I  see  Vv'bat  it  is,  you  think 
you  are  going  to  die." 

"  Indeed  I  do  not,"  gravely  re^^lied  Madeleine. 
"  and  it  is  my  daily  prayer  to  God  that  he  will  allow 
me  to  live  until  there  is  a  hospital  in  Mont-Saint- 
Jean." 

This  partly  comforted  Marie,  but  she  soon  observed, 
"  Perhaps  you  wish  to  die  when  that  happens,  Made- 
leine?" 

"  I  think  it  is  a  great  sin  to  wish  to  die^"  answered 
her  friend ;  "  but  if  God  calls  me  away  when  my  task 
is  fulfilled,  shall  I  have  a  right  to  repine  2" 

Marie  still  felt  uneasy ;  it  seemed  to  her  that  Made- 
leine thought  she  should  not  live  long  if  her  task 
were,  as  she  said,  fulfilled,  and,  in  the  instinctive 
dread  which  filled  her  mind,  she  hoped  many  years 
might  elapse  before  this  occurred.  "When  Madeleine 
renewed  her  request,  she  however  gave  the  desired 
promise  with  a  more  cheerfid  feeling  than  that  which 
it  had  inspired. 

In  the  com-se  of  the  following  day  M.  Detriment, 
a  medical  man,  who  resided  in  a  village  several 
leagues  off,  and  was  now  on  his  way  to  a  small  ham- 
let where  the  epidemic  was  raging,  passed  through 
Mont-Saint-Jean,  and  entered  the  mairie  whilst  Made- 
leine was  there  receiving  medicines  from  M,  Dubois. 
Though  the  Doctor  was  not  a  man  to  put  matters  in 
their  worst  light,  his  aj^prehensions  on  the  subject  of 
the  fever  were  evidently  strong.  That  it  would  visit 
Mont-Saint-Jean  was,  he  said,  morally  certain,  and 
the  villagers  might  as  well  be  prepared  for  it  as  be 
taken  by  surprise.  It  would  begin,  perhaps,  b}'  one 
or  two  cases,  as  it  had  done  at  C ;  but  it  would 


MADELEINE.  13 


B> 


not  leave  the  j)lace  without  its  full  harvest  of  vic- 
tims ;  the  strongest  precautions  must  therefore  be 
used :  and  here  Dr.  Detrimont  entered  into  a  variety 
of  explanations  and  recommendations  useless  to  re- 
peat. Madeleine  listened  to  him  attentivelv;  and, 
when  he  had  ceased  speaking  to  M.  Dubois,  whom 
the  Latin  names  of  the  medicines  threw  into  a  state 
of  perfect  bewilderment,  she  aj)proached,  and  quietly 
asked  him  for  a  few  instructions. 

The  doctor  knew  Madeleine,  by  having  met  her 
several  times  in  the  winter  attending  on  the  sick,  and 
he  had  often  admired  the  sagacity  with  which  she 
administered  the  proper  remedies  in  his  absence,  and 
observed  the  symptoms  of  the  diseases.  Though  his 
manner  was  generally  very  rough  and  abrupt,  he  now 
comj)lied  with  her  request,  which  M.  Dubois  had 
looked  upon  as  a  great  piece  of  presumption,  and 
patiently  explained  to  her  the  use  of  the  various  med- 
icines in  her  possession,  as  well  as  the  precautions 
to  be  employed  in  order  to  prevent  the  contagion 
from  spreading.  Madeleine  listened  to  him  with  the 
deepest  attention,  and  promised  to  profit  by  his  ad- 
vice in  case  of  an  emergency. 

'•TThy,  who  ever  heard  M.  Detrimont  speak  so 
politely  before  ?"  imprudently  exclaimed  Jean  Ec- 
naud,  when  the  doctor  had  left  the  mairie. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  sir,"  shar^^ly  observed  M.  Du- 
bois, for,  though  he  had  been  entertaining  precisely 
the  same  opinion,  he  did  not  care  to  give  it  utterance 
in  the  presence  of  Madeleine,  who,  even  if  she  noticed 
it,  was,  however,  the  last  person  to  be  elated  by  the 
doctor's  politeness. 

Kothing  occurred  during  the  v\hole  of  that  da}'  to 


136  MADELEINE. 


justify  the  apprehensions  which  had  been  conceived; 
but  the  next  morning,  when  Madeleine  left  her  house 
at  an  early  hour  in  order  to  go  to  the  mairie,  she  read 
the  dreaded  tidings  in  the  eves  of  the  first  person  she 
met. 

"  Where  is  it  ?"  she  inquired.   * 

"  In  the  house  of  Michel  Mandrin,"  replied  the 
woman ;  "  Heaven  help  us,  this  is  a  woeful  day  for 
Mont-Saint-Jean !" 

"  Who  is  with  them  ?"  asked  Madeleine. 

"  Xo  one  as  yet ;  it  is  he  who  is  taken  ill,  and  they 
say  the  three  children  are  laid  up  too.  They  lost 
their  mother  last  spring ;  but-  who  knows  that  all  is 
not  for  the  best  ?  His  poor  old  mother  came  out  at 
three  o'clock  this  morning  wringing  her  hands  and 
asking  for  help;  but,  though  they  gave  her  some 
medicine  at  the  mairie,  no  one  would  go  in  with  her, 
nor  even  so  much  as  touch  her." 

"  "Where  is  the  cure  V 

"  Gone  off  on  horseback  for  the  doctor.  Oh,  bless- 
ed Mary,  this  is  a  sad  day !" 

Madeleine  made  no  reply ;  but,  re-enteriug  the 
house,  she  merely  took  a  small  basket,  in  which  the 
necessary  medicine  had  been  jDlaced  since  the  pre- 
ceding day,  and  once  more  directed  her  steps  towards 
the  mairie.  M.  Dubois  and  Jean  Renaud,  both  pale 
and  anxious-looking,  were  talking  to  several  terrified 
villagers.  When  Madeleine  entered,  they  thought 
she  came  to  announce  some  new  misfortune,  and  im- 
mediately grew  silent, 

"  Sir,"  said  she  calmly,  addressing  the  mayor,  "  I 
come  here  to  declare  before  you  and  every  other  per- 
son now  present,  that  if  it  does  not  please  God  tc 


MADELEINE.  13'7 

spare  mj  life  in  this  trial,  I  bequeath  whatever  I  may 
die  possessed  of  to  Marie  Michon,  who  has  promised 
me  to  provide  for  my  children  when  T  am  no  more, 
as  I  did  during  my  lifetime." 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean  V  cried  the  mayor, 
somewhat  disturbed  ;  "  have  you  got  the  fever,  that 
you  talk  of  death  ?" 

He  had  scarcely  uttered  the  words  when  every  one 
instinctively  drew  away  from  Madeleine,  who  soon 
stood  alone  in  the  centre  of  the  room. 

"  ISTo,  thank  God !  I  have  not  got  the  fever,"  she 
quietly  replied  ;  "  but  I  am  going  to  the  house  of 
Michel  Mandrin,  and,  though  I  do  not  think  so,  yet, 
as  I  may  never  come  out  of  it  alive,  I  believe  it  right 
to  provide  in  that  case  for  those  whom  I  shall  leave 
behind  me." 

At  this  announcement  every  one  drew  round  Made- 
leine again  with  exj^ressions  of  sympathy  and  admira- 
tion. Even  the  stern  heart  of  M.  Dubois  was  softened 
by  the  young  girl's  calm  and  heroic  devotedness. 

"  My  dear  Madeleine,"  said  he  kindly,  "  this  must 
not  be.  Michel  Mandrin's  mother  can  attend  upon 
him  for  a  while.  You  only  risk  your  life  uselessly 
by  going  near  them." 

"  She  is  old  and  weak,"  replied  Madeleine  ;  "  what 
can  she  do  ?  Besides,  she  may  fall  ill  herself.  I 
must  go." 

All  those  present  looked  on  one  another  with  silent 
astonishment.  Madeleine  spoke  so  calmly  that  they 
could  not  understand  her. 

"  But  do  you  not  know  that  it  is  certain  death  to 
enter  that  house?"  exclaimed  one  individual,  address- 
ing her. 


138  MADELEINE. 


"It  is  not  certain  death,"  she  answered  firmly; 
"  but,  even  if  it  were,  ninst  they  be  allowed  to  die 
without  help?" 

"  Madeleine,"  gravely  observed  M.  Dubois,  "  I  say 
again,  this  must  not  be.  If  you  die,  what  will  become 
ot  your  hospital  ?" 

There  was  no  irony  in  the  mayor's  tone,  and  in- 
deed he  was  deeply  moved.  Though  he  was  often 
selfish,  and  too  fond  of  authority,  he  had  many  ex- 
cellent qualities,  wdiich  now  asserted  their  suprem- 
acy, and  spoke  in  Madeleine's  favor.  She  heard 
liim  in  silence ;  but  at  length  observed  in  a  solemn 
tone, 

"  God  alone  knows  whether  I  shall  die  or  not  in 
the  attempt ;  yet  I  believe  that  He  who  gave  mo  a 
task  to  accomplish,  will  not  call  me  aw^ay  ere  it  is 
begun." 

"Then  you  persist  in  going,  Madeleine?" 

"  I  must  go,  sir." 

Exclamations  of  disapprobation  were  heard  from 
all  those  present.  "  Do  not  go,  Madeleine,  do  not 
go,"  was  the  remonstrance  which  assailed  her  on 
every  side. 

"I  must  go,"  she  repeated,  shaking  her  head,  "in- 
deed I  must ;  seek  not  to  detain  me ;  but  if  you  wish 
to  help  me,  you  can  do  it  thus.  There  is  a  low  wall 
which  extends  at  the  back  of  Michel  Mandrin's  gar- 
den, you  can  easily  lower  down  over  it  a  basket  with 
some  provisions  in  it ;  if  you  will  give  me  some  paper, 
with  pen  and  ink,  I  shall  write  for  whatever  I  want, 
and  return  it  with  the  basket ;  but  let  no  one,  save 
the  doctor  or  the  priest,  enter  the  house  :  it  is  sinful 
to  risk  our  lives  uselessly." 


MADELEINE.  139 


M.  Dubois  gave  Madeleine  tlie  articles  for  which 
she  had  asked;  after  placing  them  quietly  in  her 
basket,  she  prepared  to  leave  the  office.  If  she  had 
been  going  to  certain  death,  scarcely  less  emotion 
would  have  been  testified  by  the  assistants.  "  Fare- 
well, Madeleine,  may  God  bless  you !"  was  the  sor- 
rowful exclamation  uttered,  as  though  she  were  never 
to  return,  which  she  now  heard  everywhere  around 
her.  Madeleine  was  moved  but  not  dismayed  by 
those  proofs  of  action ;  she  spoke  cheerfully,  and  re- 
turned the  blessings  of  all  with  a  grave  and  kindly 
smile. 

"  There  goes  a  noble  girl !"  exclaimed  M.  Dubois 
as  she  left  the  oflice,  and  there  was  not  one  present 
who  did  not  fervently  echo  the  sentiment. 

Madeleine  found  the  streets  of  Mont-Saint-Jean 
as  silent  as  the  grave.  Occasionally,  however,  some 
anxious  face  would  appear  at  a  window  and  vanish 
again.  A  few  persons,  who  from  the  direction  which 
she  took  guessed  her  object,  opened  their  doors  and 
came  out  to  remonstrate  with  her.  But  no  warnings, 
however  urgent,  could  prevail ;  Madeleine  remained 
unmoved.  On  reaching  the  infected  house,  she  found 
that  even  the  neighboring  dwellings  had  been  de- 
serted by  their  terrified  inhabitants.  The  door  of 
Michel  Mandrin's  abode  was  still  half  open,  but  no 
one  for  any  sum,  however  large,  would  have  crossed 
the  fatal  threshold.   Madeleine  entered  unhesitatingly. 

Before  closing  the  door  behind  her,  she  turned 
round  and  waved  her  hand  in  token  of  farewell  to  a 
few  women  who  had  followed  her  at  a  distance,  and 
now  watched  her  movements.  As  she  stood  before 
them  in  that  solemn  moment,  calm  and  serene,  whilst 


140  MADELEINE, 


entering  tlie  liouse  of  death,  they  felt  that  Madeleme 
looked  like  some  holy  spirit  on  the  brink  of  a  better 
world. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

M.  BiGNON  came  back  alone  towards  noon;  tha 
fever  was  raging  in  all  the  neighboring  villages,  not 
a  single  doctor  had  been  able  to  accompany  him. 

.When  he  was  told  of  Madeleine's  conduct  his  eyes 
tilled  with  tears,  and  he  merely  observed  :  "  She  is  a 
saint,  and  the  spirit  of  God  is  with  her." 

Thongh  Marie  partly  suspected  Madeleine's  inten- 
tion in  case  the  fever  should  break  out,  she  knew  not 
that  she  had  carried  it  into  effect  until  apprised  of 
this  fact  by  one  of  the  women  who  had  seen  her 
friend  entering  Michel  Mandrin's  house.  She  at  first 
turned  pale,  on  hearing  this,  and  was  much  agitated ; 
but  she  soon  remarked,  in  a  composed  and  resigned 
tone,  that  heaven  would  surely  watch  over  Madeleine. 
Great  anxiety  prevailed  in  the  village  during  the 
whole  of  the  day,  for  Doctor  Detrimont's  prediction, 
that  the  fever  would  not  be  satisfied  with  one  or  two 
victims,  recurred  to  all,  and  contributed  to  increase 
the  gloomy  feelings  visible  on  every  countenance. 

Towards  evening  a  basket  of  provisions  was  lowered 
down  over  the  garden  wall  of  Michel  Mandrin's 
house,  according  to  Madeleine's  request.  Jean  Re- 
naud,  whom  M.  Dubois  had  commissioned  to  execute 
this  task,  heard  the  basket  touching  the  ground,  and, 
without  waiting  till  Madeleine  should   appear,  he 


MADELEINE.  141 


liurried  away,  having  previously  fastened  the  rope 
from  which  it  was  suspended  to  a  neighboring  tree. 
He  came  the  next  morning  and  drew  up  the  empty 
basket,  to  which  a  small  piece  of  paper  was  attached 
with  a  pin.  It  was  not  without  using  the  greatest 
precautions  that  Jean  ventured  to  carry  this  danger- 
ous article  to  the  mairie,  where  M.  Dubois  submitted 
Madeleine's  letter  to  various  fumigatDry  processes 
before  he  attempted  to  touch  it.  As  an  anxious 
crowd  had  by  this  time  gathered  round  the  office,  the 
mayor  stepped  out,  and,  standing  on  the  flight  of 
stone  steps,  gravely  announced  that  he  was  going  to 
read  Madeleine's  letter  aloud.  A  deep  death-like 
silence  immediately  prevailed,  every  breath  was 
hushed,  though  many  hearts  beat  audibly.  M.  Dubois 
put  on  his  spectacles,  unfolded  the  scrap  of  paper, 
"  coughed,  and  in  a  loud  tone  read  the  following  words  : 

"  Michel  Mandrin  died  last  night ;  his  mother  and 
all  the  children  are  very  ill.     Pray  for  us." 

"  May  the  peace  of  heaven  be  with  his  soul !"  ex- 
claimed M.  Dubois,  in  a  tremulous  tone  ;  and,  though 
he  often  boasted  that  he  was  not  a  devout  man,  he 
now  doffed  his  cloth  cap  and  bent  on  one  knee.  Of 
all  those  present  there  was  not  one  who  did  not  follow 
his  example,  all  uttering  in  a  deep,  heartfelt  tone, 
"  Amen." 

The  mayor  was  the  first  to  rise;  he  still  held 
Madeleine's  brief  letter  in  his  hand,  and,  as  he  once 
more  glanced  over  it,  he  perceived  a  few  words 
written  in  one  of  the  corners,  and  which  had  pre- 
viously escaped  his  notice.  Signing  every  one  to  be 
attentive,  he  thus  resumed  his  reading: 

*'  I  have  laid  out  the  corpse,  and  conveyed  it,  with 


142  MADELEINE. 

the  help  of  old  mother  Mandrin,  to  the  garden,  whence 
it  can  be  taken  away,  in  order  to  receive  Christian 
burial ;  but  let  no  one  enter  the  house,  for  I  stand  in 
need  of  nothins;." 

A  dead  silence  followed  this  communication.  M. 
Dubois  was  at  first  much  disturbed,  but,  aware  that 
the  eyes  of  all  were  upon  him,  and  actuated  also  by 
a  conscientious  desire  of  fulfilling  his  duty,  he  suc- 
ceeded in  banishing  every  outward  sign  of  emotion, 
and  said  in  a  tone  of  seeming  cheerfulness,  ''  Well, 
my  friends,  this  is  no  pleasant  duty,  but  it  must  be 
done  ;  who  will  come  with  me  to  take  poor  Michel's 
body  away?" 

jSTo  one  answered  this  appeal.  The  mayor  repeated 
his  question ;  a  peasant  then  stepped  out  from  the 
crowd  and  observed : 

"  Others  may  speak  for  themselves,  but  I  will  not' 
risk  my  life  merely  to  bury  the  dead." 

These  words  were  received  with  a  general  murmur 
of  approbation. 

"  Jacques,  you  are  a  coward,"  ijidignantly  cried 
the  mayor.     "  Jean  Eenaud,  follow  me." 

But,  though  the  adjoint  said  "Yes,  Sir,"  he  did 
not  move  from  the  spot  where  he  was  standing,  and 
his  pale  countenance  and  trembling  limbs  showed  ]\L 
Dubois  that  it  was  hopeless  to  count  upon  his  aid. 

"  Come,"  said  he,  once  more  addressing  the  crowd, 
"  I  only  want  one  man  to  help  me ;  who  will  show 
his  courage  now  ?" 

There  was  some  stir  amongst  the  men,  but  none 
tavae  forward ;  a  few  of  those  who  thought  themselves 
unperceived  silently  crept  away. 

"Go,  then,  for  a  set  of  cowards,"  exclaimed  the 


MADELEINE.  143 


major,  no  longer  endeavoring  to  control  his  indignant 
contempt ;  "  not  one  amongst  jou  has  the  one-tenth 
of  Madeleine's  courage,  since  you  dare  not  even  re- 
move the  dead  body  of  him  on  whom  she  feared  not 
to  attend." 

His  angry  glance  fell,  as  he  spoke  thus,  on  Jacques, 
to  whom  he  attributed  the  disinclination  to  accom- 
pany him  manifested  by  the  crowd.  The  man  turned 
pale  as  he  met  his  eye ;  he  seemed  irresolute  for  a 
few  moments  ;  fear  kej^t  him  back,  but  shame  urged 
him  on ;  at  last  he  came  forward,  and  said,  in  a  de- 
termined tone,  "  I  will  go  with  you,  ]\I.  Dubois." 

"  Or  I  will,  and  I  will,"  immediately  cried  several 
voices. 

"  Peace,"  sternly  said  the  mayor,  "  no  one  shall 
come  with  me  but  Jacques ;  you  may  go  home." 

The  abashed  crowd  dispersed,  and  M.  Dubois  pro- 
ceeded with  his  comjDanion  to  the  house  of  Michel 
Mandrin.  By  taking  down  a  few  stones  from  the 
low  and  loosely  built  garden  wall,  they  easily  bore 
the  corpse  away  ;  it  was  immediately  put  into  a  coffin 
and  conveyed  to  the  church.  AVhilst  reading  the 
prayers  for  the  dead,  M.  Bignon  was  deeply  atfected ; 
and  when,  on  returning- from  the  churchyard,  he  re- 
entered his  house,  he  sat  down  with  evident  agitation 
on  the  chair  offered  to  him  by  his  old  housekeeper. 

"  Why,  Monsiem*,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?" 
she  exclaimed,  noticing  his  emotion.  "  Ah,  I  see 
M'hat  it  is ;  you  take  it  all  to  heart  as  though  it  were 
your  own  case  ;  you  are  so  good  !" 

"  Praise  me  not,  Ursula,"  hastilj'  interrupted  the 
priest,  in  a  tremulous  tone ;  "  my  place  is  by  the 
death-bed  of  every  member  of  my  flock,  and  yet  I 


144  MADELEINE, 


allowed  Micliel  to  die  alone ;  I  have  acted  like  the 
negligent  and  mercenary  pastor,  and  not  as  the  faith- 
ful shepherd.  Poor  Michel !  yet,  heaven  be  praised, 
he  was  a  good  and  pious  man  !  But  this  shall  happen 
no  more ;  his  mother  is  ill,  I  must  go  and  see  her ; 
Ursula,  give  me  my  hat." 

"  Jesus,  Monsieur,  you  cannot  mean  to  go ;  you 
-ook  very  ill." 

"Peace,  Ursula,  do  as  I  bid  thee;  I  am  quite 
well." 

"  Sir,"  solemnly  said  the  housekeeper,  now  really 
iilarmed,  "you  look  unwell ;  your  lips  are  as  pale  as 
ishes." 

"  Well,  I  believe  I  am  rather  faint,"  replied  M. 
Bignon,  whose  features  were  deadly  pale  ;  "  give  me 
a  glass  of  wine,  Ursula,  before  I  go." 

But  Ursula  had  not  had  time  to  obey  the  order, 
when  the  priest  staggered  and  fell  back  in  his  chair. 
She  immediately  summoned  assistance,  and  had  her 
master  conveyed  to  his  bed.  When  he  opened  his 
eyes  he  was  slightly  delirious,  and  every  one  pro- 
nounced him  afflicted  with  the  fatal  fever ;  but  Ursula, 
who  had  seen  him  in  the  same  state  once  before,  knew 
that  his  illness  was  only  caused  by  the  heat  and  ex- 
ertions of  the  preceding  day,  and  was  not  therefore 
likely  to  terminate  fatally  if  properly  treated. 

On  the  evening  of  this  day  the  basket  of  provisions 
destined  for  Madeleine  was  lowered  over  the  garden 
wall,  as  on  the  preceding  occasion ;  it  was  drawn  up 
the  next  morning  with  a  letter,  which  M.  Dubois 
again  read  outside  the  mairie  to  the  assemljlcd  crowd  : 
its  contents  ran  thus  : 

"Mother  Mandrin  is  verv  ill ;  I  scarcelv  think  she 


MADELEINE.  145 


will  live  beyond  the  niglit ;  the  children  are  in  the 
same  state;  we  all  need  your  prayers." 

"  Poor  Madeleine !  how  much  she  has  to  go 
through,"  exclaimed  Marie  Michon,  who  assisted  at 
the  reading  of  the  letter,  though  she  had  been  absent 
on  the  preceding  day ;  "  may  God  watch  over  her !" 
she  anxiously  added,  as  the  crowd  dispersed  in  gloomy 
silence,  and  she  took  her  way  homewards. 

M.  Dubois  immediately  dispatched  Jean  Kenaud 
in  search  of  Dr.  Detrimont,  or  of  any  other  medical 
man,  but  he  proved  as  unsuccessful  on  his  errand  as 
^he  cure^  and  came  back  alone  in  the  evening. 

In  her  letter  on  the  following  day  Madeleine  an- 
nounced the  deaths  of  Mother  Mandrin  and  of  the 
two  eldest  children,  "  I  have  placed  them,"  she 
stated,  "  in  the  garden.  The  poor  old  woman  was 
very  thin  and  light  to  carry.  Though  little  Lise  still 
lives,  I  do  not  think  she  will  survive  her  brothers  long." 

These  melancholy  tidings  spread  the  deepest  con- 
sternation throughout  Mont-Saint-Jean.  The  mother 
and  children  of  Michel  Mandrin  were  buried  near 
him  the  same  day,  without  any  of  the  customary 
rites  for  the  dead,  for  M.  Bignon  was  still  very  ill, 
and  it  was  not  thought  expedient  to  delay  the  funeral 
until  one  of  the  neighboring  clergymen  could  be 
summoned. 

In  the  course  of  the  following  day,  M.  Detrimont 
came  to  the  village,  and  immediately  entered  the 
house  of  death.  In  about  half  an  hour  he  came  out 
again ;  a  numerous  crowd  awaited  his  egress  at  some 
distance. 

"How  is  Madeleine?"  eagerly  asked  Marie  Mi- 
chon, coming  forward. 

T 


14G  MADELEINE. 

"Well,  but  very  miich  fatigued." 

"All!  ma}^  heaven  bless  her!"  exclaimed  many 
voices. 

"  How  is  the  child  ?"  was  the  next  question. 

The  doctor  shook  his  head :  "  There  is  little  hope," 
he  briefly  said,  proceeding  without  loss  of  time  to  the 
house  of  the  cure  ^  whom,  owing  to  the  judicious 
treatment  of  Ursula,  he  found  much  better. 

The  doctor's  reply  caused  great  anxiety  and  disap- 
paintment  in  the  village.  The  four  successive  deaths 
which  had  taken  place  in  the  fated  family  of  the  Man- 
drins  had  filled  every  heart  with  gloom  and  terror, 
and  caused  a  superstitious  value  to  be  attached  to  the 
life  of  the  child.  Madeleine's  letter  on  the  followine: 
day  only  confirmed  the  fears  generally  entertained. 
"  Lise  is  still  in  the  same  state,"  she  said ;  "  I  dare 
not  hope,  but  oh !  how  I  have  prayed  that  Grod  may 
spare  the  life  of  this  child !" 

On  hearing  these  tidings  many  sadly  shook  their 
heads,  and  predicted  that  Lise  would  follow  her  rela- 
tives to  the  gi'ave ;  others  more  sanguine  persisted  in 
hoping  for  her  recovery ;  but  all  agreed  that  the  bas- 
ket ought  to  be  returned  before  the  evening,  with  a 
request  that  Madeleine  would  let  them  know  how  the 
child  was.  Madeleine's  rejDly  diflered  but  little  from 
her  last  letter:  "The  child,"  she  said,  "still  contin- 
ues in  a  most  precarious  state.  There  is  little  reason 
to  hope." 

TVo  days  thus  elapsed  during  which  Madeleme 
alternately  spoke  of  Lise  as  on  the  brink  of  the  grave, 
or  as  getting  somewhat  better.  The  whole  of  that 
time,  little  else  was  thouglit  of  in  Mont-Saint-Jean 
save  the  state  of  the  child's  health,  as  announced  by 


ISIADELEINE.  147 


her  various  letters.  It  was  not  until  the  eighth  day 
of  her  abode  in  Michel  Mandrin's  house,  that  Made- 
leine communicated  the  hopes  of  Lise's  recovery, 
which  she  then  began  to  entertain.  The  child,  she 
said,  though  weak,  was  certainly  much  better. 
These  tidings  spread  the  most  unfeigned  joy  in  the 
village,  but  the  feeling  was  immediately  chilled 
by  Madeleine's  next  letter.  "  I  hoped  for  too 
much,"  she  sorrowfully  observed,  "  Lise  is  ill,  very 
ill,  again." 

For  three  days  the  child  remained  literally  between 
life  and  death  ;  a  general  gloom  seemed  to  hang  over 
Mont-Saint- Jean,  and  when  on  the  Sunday  morning 
M.  Bignon,  who  was  now  recovered,  requested,  after 
mass,  the  congregation  to  pray  for  Lise  Mandrin,  now 
dangerously  ill,  the  most  fervent  prayers  were  offered 
up  in  her  behalf. 

On  the  morning  of  the  third  day  Madeleine's  letter 
was  expected  with  the  greatest  impatience.  As  soon 
as  he  had  received  it,  M.  Dubois  unfolded  it  with  a 
trembling  hand,  and  read  its  contents  aloud  to  the 
anxious  and  silent  crowd  which  had  gathered  round 
the  mairie. 

"  God  be  praised  for  his  infinite  mercy !  tlie  dear 
child  is  saved !" 

Glad  exclamations  arose  on  every  side;  if  some 
piece  of  good  fortune  had  happened  to  all  Mont-Saint- 
Jean,  greater  joy  could  not  have  been  manifested. 
The  stoic  M.  Dubois  himself  was  obliged  to  wijie  his 
spectacles,  which  had  unaccountably  grown  dim  ; 
Jean  Renaud  applied  his  coat-sleeve  to  his  eyes ;  M. 
Bignon,  who  was  present,  audibly  returned  thanks  to 
heaven,  and  many  followed  his  example. 


14S  MADELEINE, 


"  Poor  Madeleine !  bow  bappy  slie  must  be,  and 
yet  bow  fatigued !"  was  Marie  Micbon's  remark. 

In  tbe  course  of  tbe  same  day  Madeleine  was  seen 
to  leave  tbe  bouse  of  sickness  ;  a  few  of  tbe  most 
courageous  of  tbose  wbo  witnessed  ber  egress  ven- 
tured to  aj)proacb  ber  near  enougb  to  question  ber 
concerning  ber  bealtb,  ard  tbat  of  Lise. 

"Sbe  sleeps,"  answered  Madeleine,  witb  a  smile 
of  pm'e  bappiness  wbicb  an  angel  migbt  bave  envied. 

"  And  bow  are  you,  dear  Madeleine  ?"  exclaimed 
one  individual,  "  bow  wearied  you  must  be !" 

But,  tbougb  Madeleine  did  indeed  look  pale  and 
fatigued,  few  persons  could  bave  suspected,  on  seeing 
ber,  bow  sbe  bad  been  employed  for  tbe  last  twelve 
days.  Her  attire  was  not  quite  so  neat  as  of  wont, 
but  sbe  wore  tbe  calm  and  composed  aspect  wbicb 
o-enerallv  cbaracterized  ber. 

"  I  am  well,  tbank  you,"  sbe  replied  to  tbose  wbo 
questioned  ber  ;  "  but  delay  me  not,  for  I  bave  little 
time  to  spare,  and  tbe  dear  cbild  may  waken." 

Sbe  accordingly  went  on,  and  soon  reacbed  tbe 
village  cburcb ;  sbe  entered  it,  and,  kneeling  near 
tbe  door,  remained  a  few  instants  engaged  in  prayer, 
after  wbicb  sbe  rose  and  proceeded  to  ber  dwelling 
On  seeing  ber  Marie  Micbon  uttered  a  joyful  excla- 
mation, clasped  ber  in  ber  arms,  and  tben  began  to 
weep.  Madeleine  embraced  ber  tenderly,  but  ex- 
plaining to  ber  tbat  sbe  bad  only  come  for  tbe  pur- 
pose of  cbanging  ber  attire,  and  procuring  several 
articles  of  wbicb  sbe  stood  in  need,  sbe  gently  put 
ber  aside,  and  proceeded  to  ber  own  room.  In  less 
tban  five  minutes  sbe  came  out  again,  witb  a  small 
bundle  of  tbings  in  ber  band.     "  Good-bye,  Marie," 


MADELEINE.  149 


said  she,  kindlv,  "  watch  well  over  my  children ;  I 
shall  come  again  to-morrow."  And  without  pausing 
to  speak  to  the  cure^  or  to  M.  Dubois,  who  were  both 
waiting  for  her  at  tlie  door,  she  hastened  back  to  tlie 
house  where  the  sick  child  lay  sleeping. 

In  a  few  days  M.  Detrimont  declared  that  Lise 
could  be  safely  removed  to  Madeleine's  dwelling, 
which  was  accordingly  done.  She  grew  rapidly  bet- 
ter, and  her  recovery  was  looked  uj^on  as  a  kind  of 
miracle  in  the  villao;e.  The  child's  nearest  relatives, 
indeed,  called  Madeleine  her  guardian  angel,  and 
unanimously  requested  her  to  take  the  sole  chai'ge  of 
Lise,  and  administer  the  little  property  to  which  she 
was  entitled.  Madeleine  joyfully  agreed  to  this,  for 
her  only  fear  had  been  to  lose  her  whom  she  al- 
ready called  her  daughter,  l^ever,  indeed,  had  her 
heart  clung  so  closely  to  human  being  as  it  now  did 
to  that  child.  She  felt  a  claim  upon  her.  Had  she 
not  snatched  her  from  the  grave?  might  she  not  truly 
call  her  her  own? 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

The  recovery  oi  little  Lise  had  led  many  people  to 
hope  that  the  fatal  malady  by  which  her  lamily  had 
been  caiTied  off  would  exercise  no  further  ravages  in 
Mont-Saint-Jean.  When  Dr.  Detrimont  heard  any 
one  giving  utterance  to  this  opinion,  he  shook  his 
head,  and  declared  that  he  did  not  feel  so  sanguine. 
Time  unfortnnately  showed  the  correctness  of  liis  sur- 
mises. 


150  MADELEINE. 


Towards  the  close  of  the  week  in  which  Madeleine 
had  left  the  house  of  the  Mandrins,  several  cases  of 
the  same  malignant  fever  by  which  they  had  been  at- 
tacked manifested  themselves  almost  simnltaneonslj 
in  the  village.  Madeleine  no  sooner  heard  of  the 
event  than  she  aastened  to  the  bedside  of  one  of  the 
sufferers.  She  there  met  the  doctor,  who  had  been 
called  ill,  as  he  fortunately  happened  to  be  on  the 
spot. 

"Well,  Madeleine,"  said  M.  Detrimont,  whose  re- 
spect for  the  young  girl's  character  always  showed  it- 
self in  the  tone  of  equality  with  which  he  addressed 
her,  "  what  shall  we  do  now  ?" 

"  Is  the  fever  truly  contagious  ?"  asked  Madeleine, 
in  French.  ^ 

"  It  is,"  gravely  replied  the  doctor  in  the  same 
language,  which  was  understood  by  none  of  the  rest 
present. 

"  Then  I  think  we  had  better  remove  all  the  pa- 
tients to  the  house  of  Michel  Mandrin,"  j)romptly 
answered  the  young  gh-1 ;  "it  has  been  well  aired 
since  I  left  it,  and,  as  from  what  you  said  I  feared 
what  was  going  to  happen,  I  privately  placed  in  it  all 
the  necessary  linen  and  the  little  medicine  I  had  left ; 
I  can  spare  two  beds,  which  I  shall  send  down  imme- 
diately." 

"  Do,"  apj)rovingly  said  the  doctor,  and  Made- 
leine immediately  left  the  house  on  her  errand. 

In  the  course  of  the  same  day  three  sick  persons 
were  conveyed  to  the  house,  which,  owing  to  Made- 
leine's prudence  and  forethought,  was  ready  to  re- 
ceive them.  As  the  doctor  went  over  it  and  superin- 
tended all  her  arrangements,  he  could  not  but  admire 


MADELEINE.  151 


inwardly  tlie  coolness  and  self-possession  of  that  sim- 
ple peasant  girl,  who,  though  so  quiet  and  silent,  al- 
ways seemed  ready  for  any  emergency,  however  great 
or  sudden. 

"  Madeleine,"  said  he  to  her  in  the  evening,  "  the 
fever  is  over  in  all  the  neighboring  villages ;  I  fear 
that  it  is  now  the  turn  of  Mont-Saint-Jean  to  suffer 
from  it,  and  that  this  is  only  the  beginning  of  a  great 
trial ;  M.  Bignon  has  offered  me  a  bed,  and,  as  I  be- 
lieve that  my  services  are  more  needed  here  than 
elsewhere,  I  shall  stay." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  earnestly  replied  Madeleine, 
"  I  did  not  like  to  say  so,  but  it  also  seemed  to  me 
that  the  fever  was  going  to  sj^read." 

"  And  how  did  you  know  that  ?"  asked  M.  Dctri- 
mont,  with  some  surprise. 

"  I  noticed,  sir,  that  just  before  Mother  Mandrin 
and  her  two  grand-children  fell  ill  their  skin  became 
slightly  yellow,  and  this  morning,  when  we  removed 
Julien,  I  thought  I  saw  the  same  color  on  his  wife's 
countenance  ;  that  was  why  I  so  earnestly  prayed  her 
to  come  here  if  she  felt  at  all  unwell.  It  also  seemed 
to  me,  as  we  came  along,  that  several  persons  looked 
ill  and  sallow,  and  this  made  me  fear  many  were  go- 
ing to  suffer  from  the  fever." 

"  You  are  right ;  that  is  one  of  the  signs  of  illness," 
answered  M.  Detrimont,  "  and  it  sometimes  appears 
for  several  daj'S  before  any  other  symptom  is  mani- 
fested. I  also  noticed  the  sallowness  of  Julien's  wife, 
and  this  it  is  that  induced  me  to  remain." 

The  event  showed  that  neither  the  doctor  nor  Mad- 
eleine had  been  mistaken  in  their  melancholy  pre- 
visions.    The  next  day  several  other  persons  wero 


152  MADELEINE. 


taken  ill  witli  the  fever,  and  found  a  refnge  in  the 
temporary  bosj^ital. 

In  less  than  a  week  it  was  quite  full,  and  there 
were,  unfortunately,  many  other  cases  of  illness  in  the 
village.  Owing  to  the  intermixture  of  the  sick  M-ith 
the  healthy,  a  large  number  of  individuals  who  might 
not  perhaps  have  been  attacked  otherwise,  fell  ill  and 
died  ;  the  survivors,  who  trembled  every  moment  for 
their  lives,  now  began  to  understand  Avhat  Madeleine 
had  meant  by  saying  that  a  hospital  would  be  use- 
ful both  to  those  who  were  sick  and  to  those  who 
were  not. 

During  three  weeks  the  fever  raged  in  Mont-Saint- 
Jean  with  the  greatest  violence;  nothing  could  ex- 
ceed the  devotedness  displayed  by  Madeleine,  M.  De- 
trimont,  M.  Bignon,  and  his  friend  M.  Morel.  Mad- 
eleine especially  seemed  indefatigable  ;  no  vigil  was 
too  long  for  her,  no  task  too  repulsive  or  loathsome ; 
she  appeared,  indeed,  above  mortality  in  her  power 
of  endurance  and  unwearied  zeal.  When  the  villagei*s 
thought  of  the  strong  spirit  enshrined  in  that  fragile 
form,  they  could  not  help  fancying  her,  in  their  gen- 
tle sujoerstition,  some  angel  in  disguise  come  to  bless 
Mont-Saint-Jean  with  its  presence.  As  long  as  the 
fever  lasted,  that  is  to  say,  for  upwards  of  three  weeks, 
Madeleine  never  once  rested,  even  for  an  hour.  It  was 
in  vain  that  M.  Detrimont  emonstrated  with  her,  and 
assured  her  repeatedly  that  she  was  killing  herself. 

Madeleine  persisted  in  her  labor  of  love. 

"  If  I  do  not  watch  by  the  sick  and  attend  upon 
them,  who  will  do  it?"  she  simply  asked;  and  the 
doctor  knew  well  enough  that,  though  every  one  ad' 
mired  Madeleine,  few  would  care  to  imitate  her  self* 


MADELEINE.  153 


sacrifice.  When  about  one-eighth  of  the  population 
had  been  carried  off,  the  fever  gradually  ceased ;  it 
was  then  that  the  fearful  ravages  it  had  made  became 
more  fully  apparent.  Few  families  had  escaped  with- 
out the  loss  of  one  or  more  of  their  members,  and  two 
individuals  had  been  attacked  in  Madeleine's  house- 
hold :  these  were  Joseph,  the  surly  old  man,  who  had 
now  been  with  her  upwards  of  a  year,  and  Annette 
the  idiot  girl.  Both  Madeleine  and  Marie  Michon 
were  unremitting  in  their  attentions  on  the  two  pa- 
tients, who  seemed  in  a  fair  way  of  recovering  ;  but, 
though  M.  Detrimont  had  pronounced  her  out  of  dan- 
ger, Annette,  who  indeed  appeared  much  better,  sud- 
denly became  worse,  and  expired  on  the  sixth  day  of 
her  illness.  Old  Joseph,  on  the  contrary,  rallied,  and 
was  soon  quite  well  again,  though  he  still  remained 
bedridden.  Every  one,  save  Madeleine,  murmured 
at  this  dispensation  of  Providence,  for  Joseph  was 
only  a  burden  upon  her,  while  the  poor  idiot  girl's  in- 
dustry had  proved  of  incalculable  advantage  to  her 
during  the  winter. 

But,  though  Madeleine  deeply  regretted  the  loss  of 
Annette,  she  did  not,  on  that  account,  neglect  paying 
every  necessary  attention  to  Joseph.  If  the  old  man 
felt  any  gratitude  for  her  kindness,  he  gave  no  proof 
of  the  feeling,  and  showed  himself  as  surly,  disagree- 
able, and  morose  as  he  had  ever  been.  Marie,  who 
could  not  understand  Madeleine's  unwearied  patience 
and  gentleness,  assured  her  she  was  acting  injudicious- 
ly, and  hinted  that  Joseph  would  be  all  the  better  for 
a  little  occasional  roughness  and  severity. 

"Nay,"  gravely  observed  Madeleine,  "is  it  be- 
cause he  does  wrong  that  we  must  do  wrong  also  ?" 


154  MADELEINE. 


Marie  felt  reproved  and  said  no  more. 

Amono-st  the  deaths  which  were  iiniversallv  la- 
mented,  none  caused  such  deep  feelings  of  regret  as 
that  of  M.  Morel.  Like  Madeleine,  he  had  shown 
himself  indefatigable  in  attending  on  the  sick,  for  he 
well  knew  that  the  efforts  of  M.  Bignon's  zeal  would 
prove  inefficient  if  left  unaided.  lie  ministered, 
moreover,  to  both  bodv  and  soul,  and  was  alwavs  in 
the  scene  of  the  greatest  danger.  He  and  Madeleine 
constantly  met  by  the  bedside  of  the  sufierers,  and,  if 
the  young  girl's  strong  faith  and  charity  had  needed  any 
encouragement  or  support,  she  would  have  found  both 
in  the  brief  though  fervent  exhortations  to  ]3ersevere 
in  her  holy  duty  which  were  addressed  to  her  by  M. 
Morel.  The  monotonous  routine  of  duties  in  which 
his  life  had  been  spent  had  not  been  able  to  subdue 
the  native  energy  of  the  cure  of  Puysaye's  character. 
His  first  intention  in  embracing  the  priesthood  had 
been  to  devote  himself  to  missionary  labors ;  but, 
though  he  had  subsequently  changed  this  resolve  in 
order  to  embrace  the  humble  life  of  a  parisli  priest, 
the  thirst  for  wider  exertions  and  more  arduous  duties 
which  had  first  actuated  him  was  not  extinguished  in 
his  soul ;  and,  whilst  devoting  himself  to  the  task  of 
ministering  to  the  spiritual  and  bodily  wants  of  the 
sick,  he  looked  forward  with  a  solemn  joy  to  the 
probable  martyrdom  that  awaited  him. 

One  evening,  when  he  was  administering  the  last 
sacraments  to  a  dying  woman,  M.  Morel  felt  a  sud- 
den sickness  coming  over  him.  He  immediately 
knew  the  nature  of  his  case,  and  instinctively  fore- 
saw that  it  would  end  fatally.  By  a  strong  eftbrt  of 
wil],  he  suppressed,  however,  every  outward  sign  of 


MADELEINE.  155 


emotion  or  illness,  and  calmly  continued  his  office. 
When  the  sick  woman  had  received  extreme  unction, 
and  was  evidently  near  her  departure,  he  knelt  by 
the  side  of  the  bed,  and  prayed  aloud  for  the  soul 
that  v/as  going  to  pass  away.  Madeleine  was  j)res- 
ent.  She  had  often  heard  M.  Morel  praying  before 
on  similar  occasions,  but  never  had  she  been  im- 
pressed so  much  as  now  with  the  fervor  of  his  tone, 
and  the  inspired  language  which  fell  from  his  lips. 
When  he  spoke  of  the  glorious  immortality  which 
awaited  the  dying  Christian,  of  that  world  where  the 
wicked  cease  from  troubling,  and  the  weary  are  at 
rest,  she  saw  his  pale  and  thin  cheek  grow  flushed, 
and  marked  the  kindling  of  his  sunken  eyes ;  he  bore 
no  outward  sj-mptoms  of  disease,  yet  it  seemed  to 
Madeleine,  though  she  knew  not  why,  that  his  abode 
on  earth  would  be  brief.  When  the  last  breath  had 
left  the  body  of  the  dying  woman,  M.  Morel,  vdio 
had  been  uj)held  till  then  by  the  mere  force  of  his 
will,  passed  his  hand  across  his  brow,  staggered,  and 
would  have  fallen  back,  had  not  Madeleine  ran  to  his 
support.  He  was  immediately  conveyed  to  his  bed. 
M.  Bignon,  almost  distracted  with  gi'ief,  insisted  on 
attending  on  his  friend,  and,  unless  when  called  away 
by  his  duty,  refused  to  leave  him. 

On  the  evening  of  the  third  day  of  M.  Morel's  ill- 
ness, M.  Detrimont,  who  had  declared  from  the  lirst 
that  there  was  no  hope  of  his  recovery,  now  said  that 
the  patient  could  not  live  the  night.  M.  Morel  heard 
him  with  a  calmness  which  amounted  almost  to  joy, 
and  requested  to  speak  to  Madeleine.  There  existed 
between  the  curt  of  Puysaye  and  the  peasant  gh-i  of 
Mont-Saint-Jean  a  strong  feeling  of  sympathy,  whicii, 


156  MADELEINE. 

thong]  I  uot  niauifested  by  words,  had  long  beeu  felt 
by  both.  They  were  kindred  spirits  in  this  sense, 
that  on  entering  life  they  had  both  set  before  them  a 
great  end,  to  accomplish  which  they  labored  with  mi- 
wearied  perseverance,  S23eaking  of  it,  however,  more 
by  deeds  than  by  words.  When  Madeleine  drew 
near  his  bedside,  M.  Morel  took  her  hand,  and  said, 
earnestly, 

"  Madeleine,  I  wanted  to  bid  you  farewell ;  I  am 
dying,  and  shall  never  see  your  hospital ;  and  yet  I 
know,  for  the  sj)irit  of  God  is  indeed  with  you,  that 
it  will  rise  one  day  on  Mont-Saint-Jean.  I  told  you 
once  that  you  would  find  many  thorns  in  your  path, 
and  I  tell  you  so  again ;  yet  be  of  good  cheer,  and  be 
true  to  your  task;  for  what  is  there  in  heaven  or 
earth  that  love  and  strong  faith  may  not  overcome? 
Farewell.    Do  not  forget  to  pray  for  me.    Farewell." 

"Alas,  sir,"  sorrowfully  exclaimed  Madeleine, 
"  who  will  advise  me  when  you  are  gone  ?" 

"  God  will  be  with  you,  Madeleine.  Once  more, 
be  of  good  cheer.     Farewell." 

Madeleine,  however,  would  not  leave  the  room ; 
she  remained  until  all  was  over.  In  a  few  hours  M. 
Morel  expired,  comforting  those  around  him,  espe- 
cially his  sorrowing  friend,  and  behaving  with  calm 
fortitude.  For  about  half  an  hour  before  his  dissolu- 
tion he  became  slightly  delirious,  and  uttered  the 
name  of  Madeleine  several  times  with  the  greatest 
earnestness.  When  this  circumstance  was  rei^orted, 
many  individuals  said  that  he  had  had  a  vision  con- 
cerning her ;  but  M.  P)ignon  and  the  doctor,  who  both 
knew  how  much  the  young  girl  had  lately  been  in  his 
thoughts,  attributed   this   fact  to   perfectly  natural 


MADELEINE.  157 


causes.  The  good  peoj^le  of  Mont-Saint-Jean,  how- 
ever, persisted  in  their  belief,  which  contributed  to 
invest  Madeleine  with  a  supernatural  character. 

The  death  of  the  priest  of  Pujsaye  was  long  and 
deeply  lamented.  His  devotedness  to  the  sick  had 
endeared  him  as  much  to  the  inhabitants  of  Mont- 
Saint-Jean  as  to  his  own  parishioners,  who,  now  that 
he  was  no  more,  began  to  perceive  his  numerous 
virtues  in  their  true  light.  They  lamented  him  still 
more  when  his  successor,  a  good  man,  with  good  in- 
tentions, but  wanting  his  enlightened  zeal,  came  to 
replace  him.  By  no  one,  however,  was  his  loss  so 
deeply  felt  as  by  the  poor  cure  of  Mont-Saint- Jean. 
M.  Bignou  now  literally  seemed  like  a  body  without 
a  soul ;  he  had  so  long  been  accustomed  to  rely  on 
his  friend's  judgment  for  every  thing  he  said  or  did, 
that  he  scarcely  knew  how  to  act.  Though  he  pro- 
fessed himself  resigned  to  the  decrees  of  heaven,  his 
disconsolate  aspect,  as  he  wandered  up  and  down, 
seeking  he  knew  not  what,  protested  eloquently 
against  his  words.  His  only  comfort  consisted  in 
speaking  of  his  deceased  friend  to  Madeleine ;  she 
had  loiown  him,  and  he  instinctively  felt  that  she 
could  appreciate  the  real  beauty  and  worth  of  M. 
Morel's  character.  She  was,  moreover,  dear  to  him, 
not  only  for  her  own  sake,  but  also  for  that  of  the 
friend  who  had  uttered  her  name  so  often  on  his 
death-bed.  M.  Bignon  remembered  likewise  the  higli 
opinion  which  the  cure  of  Puysaye  had  entertained  of 
Madeleine ;  and  this,  joined  to  his  own  natural  hu- 
mility, soon  made  him  look  on  the  young  girl  with 
an  affectionate  feeling,  strongly  mingled  with  respect. 

Two  years  had  now  elapsed  since  Madeleine  had 


158  MADELEINE. 


first  conceived  the  project  of  lier  hospital;  a~nd, 
though  little  advanced  in  other  respects,  she  thoiighl 
she  had  won  a  great  point  by  causing  the  feasibility 
and  necessity  of  her  plan  to  be  generally  acknowl- 
edged. She  was,  indeed,  no  longer  considered  as  a 
visionary  girl,  ready  to  take  her  own  impracticable 
fancies  for  what  was  right ;  every  one,  M.  Dubois 
included,  granted  that  a  hospital  would  be  one  oi 
the  most  useful  institutions  the  village  could  possess  ; 
and  many  individuals,  who  seemed  to  think  that 
nothing  was  beyond  Madeleine's  power  to  perform, 
anxiously  asked  her  when  it  would  be  erected  and 
established.  Her  reply,  that  she  knew  not,  was  re- 
ceived with  evident  doubt  and  disappointment. 

Nothing,  however,  could  exceed  the  love  and  rev- 
erence now  universally  felt  for  Madeleine.  Young 
as  she  was,  she  received  more  respect  than  was  paid 
to  the  elders  of  the  village ;  and  so  completely  was 
her  character  understood  that,  whenever  some  infirm 
being  was  left  helpless  and  destitute,  the  villagers 
significantly  remarked  to  one  another,  "  Dej)end 
upon  it  ^[adeleiue  will  take  in  that  one  also."  And 
few  indeed  were  the  claims  she  could  possibly  admit 
which  Madeleine  ever  rejected.  Though  her  re- 
sources had  been  considerably  straitened  by  the  death 
of  Annette,  her  charity  still  seemed  inexhaustible. 
Not  satisfied  with  lodging  and  feeding  the  poor  in 
her  own  house,  she  relieved,  as  much  as  her  means 
allowed,  those  whom  she  could  not  receive.  Xone 
who  sought  her  aid  were  repulsed ;  when  she  had 
nothing  else  to  bestow,  she  gave  a  piece  of  bread, 
and  often  parted  with  her  own  garments  to  clothe 
some  destitute  woman  or    child.      Even   unknown 


MADELEINE.  159 


wanderers  were  never  turned  away  ;  they  had  only 
to  plead  hunger  and  fatigue  in  order  to  be  admitted, 
and  obtain  a  meal  and  a  night's  lodging.  The  vil- 
lagers soon  learned  to  compare  her  hospitable  dwell- 
ing to  that  of  Abraham  the  Patriarch  ;  and  many  de- 
clared, that,  instead  of  being  impoverished  by  giving 
away,  jMadeleine  only  became  richer,  through  a  s]3e- 
cies  of  miracle,  which  they  did  not  however  pretend 
to  explain.  "When  she  heard  them  speaking  thus, 
Madeleine  smiled,  and  told  them  that  the  only  mir- 
acle performed  in  her  favor  lay  in  the  goodness  of 
Providence. 

All  these  charitable  tasks  could  not,  however,  di- 
vert Madeleine's  mind  from  the  great  thought  of  her 
life,  the  hospital  of  Mont-Saint- Jean.  One  day,  when 
she  was,  as  usual,  meditating  on  the  subject,  and 
sitting  at  her  door  in  the  pleasant  sunshine  of  an  au- 
tumn evening,  smiling  on  little  Lise,  who  played  near 
her,  a  woman  who  was  passing  by  entered  into  con- 
versation with  her,  and  after  a  few  desultory  remarks 
observed,  that  she  had  doubtless  heard  the  news. 

"  What  news  ?"  inquired  Madeleine. 

"  Why,  do  you  not  know  that  the  rich  gentleman 
who  bought  all  the  land  on  Mont-Saint- Jean  is  dead? 
for  it  seems  that  the  spring  which  he  had  taken  for 
such  a  fine  one  was  worth  nothing,  after  all  his  ex- 
pense and  trouble  ;  and  they  say  that  he  actually  died 
from  vexation ;  however  that  may  be,  his  heirs  arc 
going  to  sell  the  whole  concern." 

"Are  you  sure  of  this?"  earnestly  asked  Madeleine. 

"  Oh !  yes,  quite  sure,"  said  the  woman,  naming 
the  individuals  from  whom  she  had  received  the  in- 
formation. 


160  MADELEINE. 


The  same  evening  Madeleine  ascertained  the  truth 
of  the  report,  and  several  additional  23articulars  of 
importance.  After  consulting  with  M.  Bignon,  who 
approved  of  her  intention,  she  resolved  to  go  and 
speak  to  the  mayor,  which  she  accordingly  did,  the 
next  morning. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

When  Madeleine  entered  the  mairie  she  found  M, 
Dubois  seated  at  his  desk,  with  Jean  Kenaud  near 
him.  Although  he  partly  guessed  the  nature  of  her 
business,  the  mayor  received  Madeleine  very  gra- 
ciously. "  Sir,"  she  simply  said,  when  on  his  invita- 
tion she  had  taken  a  seat,  "  I  am  come  about  the 
hosi^ital." 

"  Well,  what  of  it,  Madeleine  ?"  asked  the  mayor. 

"  Do  not  you  think,  sir,  that  we  want  one  very 
much  ?" 

"  Well,  I  will  not  deny  it,  we  do  ;  but  where  are 
the  means  of  procuring  one  ?" 

"That  is  just  what  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you  for, 
sir,"  replied  Madeleine.  "  I  suppose  you  know  the  new 
house  on  the  hill  is  to  be  sold  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  do  know  it.     What  of  that  ?" 

"  Why,  sir,  there  is  a  hospital  ready  built  for  us." 

"  Well,"  impatiently  observed  the  mayor,  ''  but  it  is 
necessary  to  buy  it  first." 

"Yes,  sir,  that  is  exactly  what  I  mean,"  quietly 
said  Madeleine. 

"Is  the   girl  dreaming  ?"  exclaimed  M.  Dubois 


MADELEINE.  161 


"  Eeally,  Madeleine,  you  make  me  utter  things  I 
have  no  mind  to  say.  Do  you  know  the  price  of  tliat 
property  you  speak  of  buying  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  Madeleine  ;  "  I  believe  it  is 
to  be  sold  for  about  ten  thousand  francs." 

""Well,"  observed  M.  Dubois,  astonished  at  her 
composure,  "  where  do  you  expect  to  find  ten  thou- 
sand francs  ?" 

"  God  is  good,  sir,"  calmly  said  Madeleine.  "  All 
I  wanted  to  learn  from  you  was,  how  much  the  vil- 
lage of  Mont-Saint- Jean  could  afford  to  give  me ;  or 
whether  its  inhabitants  were  willing  to  give  me  any 
thing  towards  the  buying  of  the  property." 

"  Give  you  any  thing  !"  exclaimed  M.  Dubois,  in 
utter  amazement.  "  For  my  part,  Madeleine,  I  would 
not  give  you  one  sou  for  that  purpose." 

"  ISTay,"  indignantly,  said  Madeleine,  rising  from 
her  chair  as  she  spoke ;  "  all  cannot  have  a  spirit  so 
poor  and  mean.  Since  it  is  so,  however,  I  shall  no 
longer  appeal  to  you,  but,  if  it  is  needful,  to  all  Mont- 
Saint-Jean." 

To  see  Madeleine  angry  was  so  unusual  a  sight 
that  M.  Dubois  was  pacified  in  an  instant, 

"  Come,  Madeleine,"  said  he,  good-naturedly,  "  wo 
shall  not  part  so.  To  show  you  that  it  is  not  through 
avarice  I  spoke  thus,  I  now  promise  you  a  hundred 
francs  provided  you  can  only  procure  the  remainder 
of  the  money.  But  just  think,  Maddeine,  is  that 
possible  or  likely  ?  I  am  one  of  the  richest  men  in 
Mont-Saint-Jean,  and  I  will  venture  to  say,  none  of 
the  rest  will  give  you  so  large  a  sum  as  that  I  have 
just  promised  ;  then  what  will  you  do?" 


"  Sir,"  answered  Madeleine,  "  let  the  inhabitants  of 


162  MADELEINE. 

Mont-Saint-Jean  give  me  what  they  can,  and,  with 
the  help  of  God,  I  will  find  the  rest  in  time." 

"  Yes,-'  said  the  mayor,  "  when  the  property  will 
have  been  bought  and  sold  again." 

"  In  that  case  I  shall  return  the  money,  unless  those 
who  gave  it  choose  to  see  it  aj^plied  for  the  erection 
of  another  hosi^ital.  But  I  do  not  think  the  house 
on  the  hill  will  be  sold  so  very  soon.  Who  would 
buy  it  ?  It  is  not  a  country  house  for  a  rich  man, 
and  it  is  too  dear  for  a  poor  one.  Since  the  spring 
is  worthless,  no  one  who  wishes  to  make  money  would 
think  of  purchasing  it ;  and  for  what  is  the  place  so 
well  suited  as  for  a  hospital  ?" 

"  Well,  I  believe  you  are  right,"  said  M.  Dubois, 
struck  with  the  practical  clearness  of  Madeleine's 
arguments,  "as  to  this  j)oint  at  least.  The  question 
is,  how  are  you  to  get  the  ten  thousand  francs  ?  I 
will  do  for  you  all  I  can ;  but  I  cannot  give  you  great 
hopes.  I  shall  call  together  this  evening  the  most 
wealthy  men  of  Mont-Saint-Jean,  and,  if  you  are 
here  at  seven  to  explain  to  them  your  views  yourself, 
you  will  be  able  to  judge  of  your  chance  of  success." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  calmly  answered  Madeleine; 
"  I  shall  come." 

At  seven  in  the  evening,  Madeleine  accordingly 
made  her  appearance  at  the  mairie.  M.  Dubois  had 
kept  his  word,  and  summoned  together  those  indi- 
viduals whom  he  thought  most  likely  to  aid  her  in 
her  plan.  He  had  also  told  them  his  object  in  taking 
this  step,  and  they  had  all  declared  that,  though  they 
might  individually  be  willing  to  aid  Madeleine,  yet, 
as  a  body,  they  did  not  think  it  right  to  tender  their 
assistance,  the  mere  idea  of  buying  the  property  on 


MADELEINE.  163 


the  hill  being  in  itself  absurd,  when  the  price  was 
taken  into  consideration.  Though  ten  thousand  francs 
was  a  very  small  sum  indeed,  considering  the  object 
in  view,  the  capitalists  of  Mont-Saint-Jean  looked 
upon  it  as  an  extravagant  demand. .  Why,  if  this 
was  to  be  given  away  for  a  hospital  for  the  poor, 
what  ought  to  be  done  for  the  rich  ? 

With  a  penetration  more  natural  than  acquired, 
Madeleine  saw  at  a  glance  how  matters  stood,  and 
that,  though  she  was  received  by  the  whole  body 
with  the  greatest  respect  and  kindness,  they  were 
each  and  collectively  determined  to  give  her  nothing. 
Of  this,  however,  she  did  not  choose  to  appear  con- 
sciojis,  and  simply  began  stating,  as  a  fiict  beyond 
dispute,  that  there  was  nothing  of  which  Mont-Saint- 
Jean  stood,  so  much  in  need  as  a  hospital.  There 
was,  at  first,  some  inclination  to  contest  this  point ; 
but  Madeleine,  appealing  to  the  memory  of  all  present 
for  instances  in  the  late  calamity,  soon  succeeded  in 
silencing  her  opponents. 

"  Well,"  said  M.  Dubois,  who  acted  as  speaker, 
"  we  asree  to  that.  Mont-Saint-Jean  wants  a  hos- 
pital ;  but  how  are  we  to  get  it  ?" 

"  You  know  what  I  said  this  morning,  sir,"  an- 
swered Madeleine.  "  The  house  on  the  hill  is  to  be 
sold  ;  I  have  looked  over  it  to-day,  and  I  find  that  it 
will  answer  admirably  for  the  purpose.  The  price, 
I  believe,  all  know  ;  it  is  ten  thousand  francs." 

These  last  words  seemed  to  chill  the  whole  as- 
sembly. 

"  How  much  of  that  money  have  you  got  V'  asked 
M.  Dubois,  after  a  pause. 

"  Nothing,"  composedly  answered  Madeleine. 


164  MADELEINE. 

"  Well,"  said  the  mayor,  "  I  j^romised  you  a  liun 
dred  francs  this  morning.     I  will  keep  to  my  word.' 

M.  Dubois  looked  round  as  he  spoke.  He  had 
hoped  that  this  indirect  appeal  would  jDroduce  some- 
thing from  those  present ;  but  they  all  remained  cold 
and  silent. 

Madeleine  looked  round  in  her  turn.  "  Is  there 
no  one  here,"  said  she,  in  her  low  gentle  voice,  "  who 
is  willing  to  give  something  for  the  hospital  of  Mont- 
Saint-Jean  ?" 

There  was  a  slight  stir  in  the  assembly. 

"  Madeleine,"  observed  an  old  farmer,  "  you  are  a 
good  girl,  and  we  all  love  you,  you  must  know  that. 
Do  not,  therefore,  think  us  hard  if  we  give  you  no- 
thing now  ;  but  ten  thousand  francs  is  too  much  for 
our  means." 

"  I  do  not  ask  you  for  ten  thousand  francs,"  calmly 
answered  Madeleine ;  "  but  for  whatever  you  are  able 
and  willing  to  give." 

The  old  man  was  disconcerted  by  this  reply,  but 
one  of  his  companions  quickly  rejoined, 

"  "We  know  that,  Madeleine ;  but,  as  we  cannot 
give  you  the  whole  sum — " 

"You  prefer  giving  me  nothing,"  quietly  said 
Madeleine. 

The  silence  which  followed  these  words  was  equiv- 
alent to  an  assent.  Madeleine  waited  for  a  while  to 
see  if  any  one  was  willing  to  speak,  but,  as  all  re- 
mained silent,  she  turned  towards  M.  Dubois  and 
observed,  "  You  promised  me  a  hundred  francs,  sir." 

"  Well,"  said  the  mayor. 

"  When  the  time  comes  I  shall  bid  you  remember 
your  word." 


MADELEINE.  165 


"  So  you  persist  in  your  plan  of  buying  the  house 
on  the  hill  for  a  hospital!"  exclaimed  M.  Dubois, 
with  evident  surprise. 

"  As  to  that  particular  house,  sir,"  answered  Mad- 
eleine, "  I  cannot  tell ;  but,  as  for  the  hospital,  there 
shall  assuredly,  with  God's  help,  be  one  in  Mont- 
Saint-Jean  some  day." 

"But  what  can  you  do  with  a  hundred  francs?" 
urged  the  mayor. 

•'  If  I  had  a  hundred  times  as  much  it  would  be 
enough,"  replied  Madeleine. 

All  those  present  looked  at  one  another  with  sur- 
prise :  nothing  was  evidently  farther  from  Madeleine's 
thoughts  than  to  give  up  her  plan. 

"  What  can  you  do  with  a  hundred  francs,  never- 
theless ?"  said  M.  Dubois  once  more. 

"  I  can  say  to  myself  every  day  that  I  have  that 
much  less  to  obtain  than  if  I  had  nothing." 

One  of  the  individuals  present,  annoyed  by  this 
extraordinary  persistency,  here  observed,  "  But  how 
will  you  obtain  the  rest  of  the  money?" 

"  How  did  God  send  me  the  hundred  francs  which 
I  have  just  been  promised  by  M.  Dubois  ?" 

"  Then,  I  suppose,"  sharply  remarked  another  indi- 
vidual, "you  will  say  the  people  of  Mont-Saint-Jean 
were  too  poor  to  pay  for  their  own  hospital  ?" 

"  Should  I  not  rather  say  they  were  unwilling  ?" 
replied  Madeleine,  looking  at  him  fixedly. 

"  Come,"  said  the  old  farmer,  who  had  been  listen- 
ing admiringly  to  Madeleine's  replies  for  the  last  few 
minutes,  "  I  see  there  is  some  truth  in  the  proverb 
which  says,  that  what  a  woman  will  do  must  bo  done ; 
it  was  my  firm  intention  to  give  you  nothing,  Made- 


166  MADELEINE. 


leine,  but  since  you  are  so  determined  I  shall  stand 
for  fifty  francs." 

"  Thank  you,  Mathurin,"  answered  the  young  girl, 
"  with  M.  Dubois'  hundred,  that  will  make  a  hundred 
and  fifty  francs." 

"  I  will  give  thirty,"  said  another. 

"  That  makes  a  hundred  and  eighty,"  said  Made 
leine. 

"  And  I  give  thirty  more,"  exclaimed  a  voice. 

"  Then  that  will  make  two  hundred  and. ten." 

In  short,  every  one  promised  to  give  something, 
until  the  whole  amounted  to  five  hundred  francs. 

"  You  see,"  said  Madeleine,  turning  with  a  smile 
towards  the  individual  who  had  asked  her  how  she 
meant  to  obtain  the  rest  of  the  money,  "  that,  though 
I  had  only  the  one-hundredth  of  the  sum  a  while  back, 
God  has  already  sent  me  five  times  as  much." 

"  But,  Madeleine,"  said  M.  Dubois,  "  you  do  not 
seem  to  me  to  be  much  more  advanced  than  you  were 
then  ;  how  can  you  get  the  nine  thousand  and  five 
hundred  francs  which  are  still  wanted  ?" 

"  I  know  not,"  replied  Madeleine ;  "  but  did  I 
know  a  short  time  ago  how  I  should  get  the  five  hun- 
dred I  have  now  ?" 

"  Then  you  still  persist  in  your  plan  ?" 

"  Assuredly.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  ago  I  had  not 
more  than  the  one-hundredth  portion  of  the  sum,  and 
now  I  have  exactly  the  one-twentieth  of  it !  Tliis  is 
not  the  time  to  give  it  up." 

"  You  are  a  strange  girl,"  said  M.  Dubois,  shaking 
his  head  ;  but  Madeleine  only  smiled. 

Although  she  seemed  satisfied  with  what  she  had 
received,  the  donors  themselves  felt  that,  considering 


MADELEINE.  167 


the  object  to  which  it  was  to  be  applied,  the  sum 
was  a  miserably  poor  one.  The  old  former  looked 
at  his  companions,  and  read  their  meaning  in  their 
looks. 

"  Come,"  said  he,  "  this  will  not  do.  We  must 
loosen  the  strings  of  onr  purses  a  little  more,  were 
it  only  for  the  honor  of  Mont-Saint-Jean." 

A  universal  assent  followed  this  proposition. 

Madeleine,  seeing  that  a  consultation  was  going  to 
take  place,  and  not  wishing  to  impose  any  restraint 
upon  it,  silently  withdrew  into  an  inner  room.  In 
about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  her  presence  was  request- 
ed by  the  assembly.  When  she  had  taken  her  seat, 
the  old  farmer  addressed  her  thus  : — 

"  Madeleine,  if  any  one  had  told  us  when  we  came 
here  this  evening,  what  we  should  do  before  we  left 
the  mairie,  we  should  one  and  all  have  laughed  at 
that  person,  for  indeed  our  intention  was  to  give  you 
nothing ;  somehow  or  other,  however,  we  agreed  to 
let  you  have  different  sums,  which,  put  together, 
amoimted  to  five  hundred  francs.  With  this  you 
seemed  satisfied,  and  did  not  ask  for  more ;  but  we 
all  knew  nevertheless  that  it  was  very  little,  and  that 
we  might  as  well  have  given  you  nothing.  When 
you  left  the  room,  therefore,  we  consulted  our  means, 
and,  recollecting  that  we  were  the  richest  men  of 
Mont-Saint-Jean,  and  by  this  bound  to  do  that  which 
is  out  of  the  reach  of  poorer  folks,  we  determined  to 
bestow  upon  you  such  a  sum  that  no  one  might  ac- 
cuse us  of  stinginess,  even  though  it  remained  still 
far  short  of  the  ten  thousand  francs  ;  each,  therefore, 
according  to  his  means,  promised  to  give  a  certain 
sum,  which  Jean  Renaud  wrote  down  on  a  slip  of 


168  MADELEINE. 


paper,  and  the  wliole  added  together  amounts  to 
three  thousand  francs." 

"  I  can  only  thank  you,"  said  Madeleine,  looking 
round ;  "  but  the  blessings  of  the  poor  will  reward 
you  one  day." 

"  Madeleine,"  observed  Mathurin,  "  you  must  not 
misunderstand  our  meaning  :  this  money  is  given  to 
you  for  the  poor ;  let  them  thank  you.  "We  do  not 
in  the  least  conceive  ourselves  bound  to  give  a  hos- 
pital to  Mont-Saint-Jean,  though  we  should  feel  will- 
ing to  lend  our  aid  for  such  a  purpose  :  we  therefore 
give  the  money  to  you  to  di3j)0se  of  according  to  your 
own  wish,  well  knowing  that  whichever  way  it  is 
spent  it  will  benefit  the  poor.  To  you,  Madeleine, 
we  owe  many  obligations ;  for  the  last  two  years  you 
have  acted  as  few  women  ever  acted  in  Mont-Saint- 
Jean  before.  You  have  fed  and  clothed  the  poor, 
you  have  waited  on  the  aged  and  infirm  like  a  duti- 
ful daughter ;  when  the  hand  of  God  was  heavy  upon 
us  you  were  seen  by  every  bed  of  sickness,  and  you 
have  been  a  speaking  example  of  good  to  our  wives 
and  daughters ;  it  is,  therefore,  with  a  willing  spirit 
that  we  give  you  those  three  thousand  francs  in  order 
to  aid  you  in  a  purpose  which  we  all  know  lies  near 
your  heart.  But,  though  we  are  not  poor  men,  this 
is,  you  must  feel,  a  large  sum,  and  fully  as  much  as 
we  can  afford  to  bestow ;  we  therefore  think  it  only 
'  right  to  warn  you  beforehand,  that,  no  matter  what 
happens,  a  Hard  more  w^e  cannot  and  will  not  give." 

"  I  am  satisfied  with  what  I  have  received,"  replied 
Madeleine,  "  and  once  more  I  thank  3^ou." 

"It  is  not  all,"  continued  Mathurin,  "for  Dubois 
has  been  thinking  that  the  thousand  francs  which 


MADELEINE.  169 


were  collected  by  the  commune  to  improve  the 
dancing-place,  and  plant  a  row  of  trees  near  it,  would 
be  still  better  applied  if  given  to  you  for  the  hospital ; 
if  the  general  consent  be  granted  to  this  arrangement 
you  will  have  four  thousand  francs  at  your  disposal ; 
but  how  can  you  obtain  the  remaining  six  thousand  ?" 

"  God  will  give  me  tlie  means." 

"  Well,  but  have  you  any  plan  of  your  own  ?" 

"  I  have  one,"  said  Madeleine  with  a  smile ;  "  but 
since  you  have  trusted  me  thus  far,  allow  me  to  act 
according  to  my  own  way  without  questioning  me." 

"  As  you  wish,  Madeleine ;  whatever  you  do  will 
■Turely  be  well  done." 

As  the  meeting  now  gave  signs  of  breaking  up, 
Madeleine,  renewing  her  thanks,  and  bidding  them 
all  farewell,  left  the  office.  Until  then  she  had  laid 
her  feelings  under  control,  but  now  she  could  do  so 
no  longer.  When  she  found  herself  alone  she  raised 
her  tearful  eyes  to  the  starry  sky  above  her,  fervently 
clasped  her  hands  together,  and  exclaimed  from  the 
fulness  of  a  heart  overflowing  with  happiness,  "  The 
first  step  is  won ;  my  God,  I  thank  thee !" 


CHAPTER  XV. 

On  retm-ning  home  Madeleine  found  M.  Bignon, 
and  Marie  Michon,  Avith  little  Lise  sleeping  upon  her 
knee,  waiting  to  learn  the  result  of  her  application. 
She  answered  their  eager  and  questioning  glances  by 
a  smile  of  happiness  which  could  not  be  misunder- 
stood. 

8 


170  MADELEINE. 


"  May  God  l)o  praised  for  this !"  exclaimed  M 
Bignon. 

"I  told  you,  sii',  how  it  would  be,"  observed  Marie 
Michon,  with  a  quiet  smile  of  triumph,  "  What  is 
there  that  Madeleine  undertakes  which  she  does  not 
bring  to  a  happy  ending  ?  But  now,  dear  Madeleine, 
tell  us  every  thing  about  it ;  and,  first  of  all,  how 
much  have  you  got?" 

"Three,  nay,  perhajDS,  four  thousand  francs,"  re- 
2)lied  Madeleine,  who  immediately  related  to  them 
all  that  had  passed  at  the  mairie. 

"  Well,  I  am  happy  to  hear  this,  very  happy, 
Madeleine,"  observed  M.  Bignon  with  a  melancholy 
sigh;  "and  do  you  not  think,"  he  added  with  a 
wistful  look,  "  that  he  would  have  been  happy  to 
hear  it  too  ?" 

"  Indeed  I  do,  sir,"  replied  Madeleine,  in  a  sorrow- 
ful tone.  "I  am  sure  that  this  news  would  have 
gladdened  M.  Morel's  kind  heart. 

"Ay,  he  had  a  kind  heart!"  eagerly  cried  M. 
Bignon,  his  eyes  glistening  as  he  spoke ;  "  else  how 
could  he  have  borne  with  me  so  long?  Many  thought 
him  stern ;  but  he  M^as  gentle,  very  gentle,  Madeleine, 
was  he  not?" 

"  He  was,  sir." 

"  And  good  to  the  poor,  and  zealous  in  the  dis- 
charge of  his  duties,  as  a  priest  of  God  should  be," 
continued  the  cure,  in  a  low,  humble  tone,  as  though 
he  deprecated  his  own  unworthiness.  "  His  was  a 
great  loss,  was  it  not,  Madeleine  ?" 

"  A  heavy  loss,  sir ;  but  the  will  of  God  be 
done." 

"Amen;  for,  indeed,  I  am  quite  resigned.  Made- 


MADELEINE.  171 


leine,  truly  resigned,  to  the  will  of  heaven ;  it  were  a 
great  sin  not  to  be ;  he  always  said  so.     Ah,  me !  I 
shall  never  hear  him  say  so  again  on  earth !     I  shall 
never  meet  his  kindly  smile,  nor  hear  him  call  me 
brother,  for  we  had  been  brought  up  together,  Made- 
leine, in  the  same  village,  and  in  the  same  seminary. 
We  were  ordained  on  the  same  day,  and  since  then 
no  week  ever  passed  Avithout  our  meeting.     We  loved 
one  another  dearly !     But  you  need  not  look  at  me 
so,  Madeleine,  I  am  resigned,  I  am,  indeed,"  added 
M.  Bignon,  in  a  tremulous  tone,  and  with  a  melan- 
choly look,  that  gave  a  direct  contradiction  to  his 
assertion.     Madeleine's  eyes  filled  with   tears;   but 
she  thought  less  of  M.  Morel,  deeply  as  she  had  re- 
gretted him,  than  of  the  gentle  cure  of  Mont-Saint- 
Jean,  who  seemed  unconscious  how  much  his  grief 
for  the  loss  of  his  friend  displayed  the  truth  and  holy 
simplicity  of  his  own  character.     "  Ay,  ay,"  he  re- 
marked, misconstruing  the  cause  of  her  emotion,  "  1 
know  you  loved  him,  and  he  loved  you  too,  for  your 
name  was  the  last  on  his  lips ;  and  we  all  have  a 
right  to  weep  and  grieve  for  him — that  is  to  say," 
observed  M.  Bignon,  checking  himself,  and  ingenu- 
ously looking  at  Madeleine,    "we  must  not  grieve 
too  much,  that  would  be  flying  in  the  fiice  of  heaven. 
I  hope  you  do  not  grieve  too  much,  Madeleine :  re- 
member that  he  always  preached  resignation.     Think 
how  it  would  have  pained  him  to  see  you  committiuf'- 
such  a  sin !     Promise  me  that  you  will  try  and  sub- 
due your  grief." 

"  Indeed  I  will  try,  sir." 

M.  Bignon  seemed  very  much  relieved  by  Made- 
leine's reply ;  but  the  feeling  was  only  momentary, 


172  MADELEINE. 


and  he  was  relaj)sing  into  his  nsiial  melancholy  when 
Dame  Ursula  entered. 

"Well,  sir,"  she  somewhat  acrimoniously  observed, 
"supper  has  been  ready  this  half  hour." 

"  I  am  coming,  Ursula ;  but  Antoinette  had  told 
me  we  should  not  sup  till  nine."  For  since  the  deatli 
of  the  cure  of  Puysaye,  his  housekeeper  had  been 
lesiding  under  M.  Bignon's  roof,  to  the  infinite  annoy- 
ance of  Dame  Ursula. 

"Oh!"  she  bitterly  rejoined,  "I  was  not  aware 
that  Mademoiselle  Antoinette  had  fixed  a  new 
hour  for  sujDper,  otherwise  I  should  not  have  pre- 
sumed— " 

"Ursula,"  gently  interrupted  her  master,  "let 
there  be  no  strife  between  you,  for  his  sake ;  she  was 
a  faithfid  servant  to  him,  and  he  loved  her." 

Ursula  could  not  withstand  the  appealing  look 
which  accompanied  this  speech.  "  I  am  sure,  sir," 
she  observed  in  a  mollified  tone,  "  that  Mademoiselle 
Antoinette  has  no  reason  to  complain  of  me." 

"Then  let  this  continue,"  replied  M.  Bignon. 
"  Farewell,  Madeleine ;  remember  that  it  is  our  duty 
to  be  resigned ;  you  will  not  forget  it,  will  you  ?"  he 
wistfully  added. 

"  Indeed,  sir,  I  shall  not." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it,"  said  the  priest  with  a  sigh,  as 
he  followed  his  housekeeper  out  of  the  room. 

"  How  strange !"  observed  Marie  Michon  when  he 
was  gone.  "  M.  Bignon  seems  to  think  that  we  all 
grieve  for  the  death  of  M.  Morel  as  he  does ;  he  asked 
me  several  times  before  you  came  in  if  I  had  got  over 
my  sorrow  yet,  and,  though  I  told  him  I  had,  ho 
scarcely  seemed  to  believe  me." 


MADELEINE.  1T3 


"He  loved  him  iniichj  very  much,"  earnestly 
answered  Madeleine. 

"  Marie  says  you  love  me  very  much,"  here  inter- 
posed Lise,  who  had  wakened  up ;  ''  do  you  indeed  ?" 

"I  love  thee  dearly,"  replied  Madeleine,  embracing 
her  tenderly,  "  and,  God  help  thee,  poor  child !  if  I 
did  not  love  thee,  who  would  ?" 

But  little  Lise  only  smiled  childishly  in  her  face, 
and  soon  fell  asleep  again  upon  her  lap. 

The  good  j^eople  of  Mont-Saint-Jean  were  greatly 
astonished  to  learn  on  the  following  day,  that  those 
very  individuals  who  had  gone  to  the  mairie  with  the 
firm  intention  of  refusing  Madeleine's  request  had 
ended  by  giving  her  three  thousand  francs  ;  and  yet, 
according  to  their  own  account  of  the  transaction,  she 
had  employed  no  arts  of  oratory  to  make  them  alter 
their  purpose,  she  had  used  neither  flattery  nor  en- 
treaty, the  most  approved  methods  of  softening  obdu- 
rate hearts ;  her  sole  support  had  been  the  pure  and 
holy  cause  she  advocated,  a  strong  and  unbending- 
will,  and  a  character  which  even  the  most  rej)robate 
pronounced  admirable. — "With  these  she  had  con- 
quered. 

In  the  course  of  the  week  M.  Dubois  placed  in 
Madeleine's  hands  the  three  thousand  francs  which 
had  been  promised  to  her,  as  well  as  the  thousand 
which,  instead  of  being  applied  to  improve  the  vil- 
lage dancing-place,  were  now,  with  the  general  con- 
sent, given  to  her  hosj^ital.  Great  curiosity  was  felt 
in  the  mean  time  to  know  how  she  would  procure  the 
six  thousand  francs  still  wanting  to  make  up  the 
necessary  sum.  Some  elucidation  of  the  mystery 
was  obtained  on  the  following  Sunday,  when  Mado 


174  MADELEINE, 


leine  was  seen  after  each  mass  standing  at  the  church 
door  with  a  plate  in  her  hand,  and  saying  to  those 
who  came  out,  "  Eemember  the  hospital  of  Mont- 
Saint-Jean,  if  you  please." 

The  plan  proved  very  successful ;  every  one  felt 
anxious  to  contribute  to  the  village  hospital,  and 
those  who  could  give  nothing  at  the  time  called  in 
the  evening  with  their  humble  offering.  Madeleine 
thus  collected  about  fifty  francs  ;  but  she  received 
several  hints  that  the  experiment  would  not  bear 
repetition,  and  many  people  wondered  aloud  how  she 
would  get  the  five  thousand  nine  hundred  and  fifty 
francs  she  still  wanted.  Though  Madeleine  gave 
them  no  satisfaction  on  this  point,  she  seemed  to  be 
sufiiciently  confident  in  her  own  resources,  for  on  the 

following  day  she  went  to  the  town  of  C ,  where 

the  notary  who  had  been  commissioned  to  sell  the 
pro]3erty  resided.  From  him  Madeleine  learned  that 
the  j)i"ice  of  the  house  was  not  ten  thousand  francs, 
as  she  had  supposed,  but  twelve  thousand.  At  the 
same  time  M.  Lacroix,  the  notary,  informed  her  that 
the  present  possessors  of  the  property  might  be  in- 
duced to  give  it  for  a  lesser  sum  in  case  they  failed 
to  sell  it  now ;  so  that  if  Madeleine  was  willing  to 
wait  three  months,  she  might  perhaps  then  obtain 
the  house  for  the  ten  thousand  francs. 

"Do  you  think,  sir,  the  j^roperty  will  be  sold 
before  the  three  months  are  over  ?"  hesitatingly 
asked  Madeleine. 

"  It  is  indeed  very  likely,  for  several  persons  have 
been  inquiring  about  it  lately  ;  still  you  have  a 
chance.  Let  me  see,  to-day  is  the  lYth  of  Sej)tem- 
ber;  well,  then,  call  upon  me  after  Christmas,  and 


MADELEINE.  175 


if  the  house  is  still  unsokl  I  will  give  you  a  final 
answer." 

Madeleine  had  no  alternative  but  to  submit ;  for 
the  difference  of  two  thousand  francs  was  to  her  an 
enormous  one,  and  with  a  sigh  she  declared  her  will- 
ingness to  wait  until  the  ap^^ointed  time  should  have 
elapsed. 

When  Marie  condoled  with  her  on  the  subject  of 
her  disappointment,  Madeleine -calmly  replied — 

"  If  it  is  not  the  will  of  God  that  I  should  have 
that  particular  house,  it  is  doubtless  better  for  me 
not  to  have  it." 

On  the  following  Sunday  Madeleine,  to  the  general 
surprise,  did  not  appear  at  mass  ;  many  persons 
asked  Marie  Michon  if  her  friend  were  ill,  but  she 
replied  that  she  enjoyed  good  health,  and  was  merely 
gone  to  Puysaye.  On  her  return  Madeleine  made, 
however,  no  mystery  of  her  errand  ;  she  had  been  to 
solicit  the  charity  of  the  neighboring  village  in  favor 
of  her  hospital. 

"  How  much  did  you  get  ?"  asked  one  individual. 

"  Seven  francs." 

The  sum  was  thought  very  insignificant ;  but  such 
was  not  Madeleine's  opinion,  "  for,"  as  she  observed, 
"  yesterday  I  had  only  four  thousand  and  fifty  francs, 
and  to-day  I  have  four  thousand  and  fifty -seven  ;  am 
I  not  therefore  richer  than  I  was  ?" 

Though  there  was  no  contesting  this,  the  remark 
still  was,  "  What  is  seven  francs  ?"  But  to  Made- 
leine every  sum,  however  trifling,  that  brought  her 
nearer  to  her  great  end,  seemed  of  inestimable  value. 
She  visited  another  villao-e  on  the  followinc;  Sundav, 
and  this  time  her  errand  proved  somewhat  more  pro- 


37G  MADELEINE. 


ductive  ;  she  brought  home  ten  francs.  Every  Sun^ 
day  she  went  to  a  different  parish,  and  never  came 
home  empty  handed.  When  she  had  explored  all 
the  villages  within  a  few  leagues  of  Mont-Saint-Jean, 
she  resolved  to  extend  her  peregrinations,  and  accord* 
iDgly  borrowed  the  cure's  mare  every  time  that  the 
distance  was  too  considerable  for  her  to  walk.  As 
Sunday  was  the  most  favorfible  day  for  such  excur- 
sions, and  the  only  one  of  which  she  could  dispose 
freely,  it  was  that  which  she  always  chose.  In  order 
to  reach  the  place  of  her  destination,  sorrietimes  ten 
or  fifteen  leagues  distant,  she  was  obliged  to  set  out 
on  her  journey  long  before  daylight.  Her  way  gen- 
erally lay  through  a  wild  and  desolate-looking  coun- 
try, and  often  over  rugged  hills  and  mountain-passes, 
where  she  might  travel  for  hours  without  meeting  a 
human  being  ;  but  Madeleine  was  accustomed  to 
solitude,  and  the  wild  beauty  of  the  surrounding 
scenery  had  a  charm  for  her  which  the  native  of  a 
more  fertile  and  favored  region  would  vainly  have 
sought  to  perceive.  She  always  carried  with  her 
sufficient  provisions  for  the  day  ;  her  food  was  indeed 
of  the  simplest  kind,  but  it  satisfied  the  wants  of 
nature,  and  she  asked  no  more.  When  the  day  was 
fine,  Madeleine  sometimes  took  her  repast  on  the 
margin  of  any  clear  stream  that  chanced  to  cross  her 
j)ath,  A  piece  of  bread,  some  fruit,  and  a  drink  of 
the  water  that  rippled  at  her  feet,  formed  her  meal. 
The  silence  and  loneliness  of  those  journeys,  which 
might  have  i:>roved  irksome  to  any  other  mind,  were, 
on  the  contrary,  congenial  to  that  of  Madeleine. 
She  generally  found  her  own  thoughts  sufficient  com- 
pany ;  but  when  these  became  dull  she  either  took 


MADELEINK.  177 


out  her  roscaiy  or  her  prayer-book,  or,  oftener  still, 
chanted  one  of  her  favorite  ballads  as  she  slowly 
went  along. 

Whilst  the  weather  remained  favorable,  these  ex- 
cursions, though  fatiguing,  were  not  attended  with 
any  unpleasant  circumstances ;  but  the  severe  cold 
which  prevailed  towards  the  beginning  of  winter  ren- 
dered them  very  trying  for  Madeleine,  Neither  the 
fatigue  she  experienced  nor  the  state  of  the  weather 
could  prevent  her,  however,  from  setting  out  every 
Sunday  morning.  Snov/,  wind,  or  rain,  seemed 
equally  indifferent  to  her.  It  was  in  vain  Marie 
earnestly  besought  her  to  stay  at  home,  and  that  M. 
Bignon  and  Doctor  Detrimont  remonstrated  with  her ; 
Madeleine  persisted  in  her  resolve,  and  to  all  they 
could  urge  merely  replied,  "  I  cannot  help  it ;  Mont- 
Saint- Jean  must  have  a  hospital." 

Her  journeys  were,  however,  more  likely  to  prove 
prejudicial  to  her  health  in  the  end,  than  dangerous 
for  the  present.  She  now  possessed  a  very  accurate 
knowledge  of  the  surrounding  country,  and  always 
showed  great  prudence  and  coolness  in  difhculties. 
Notwithstanding  her  fragile  form,  she  could  bear  a 
degree  of  exertion  and  fatigue  from  which  even  robust 
men  might  have  shrunk,  and  through  which  she  was 
supported  by  her  energetic  and  ever-active  mind. 

Both  Madeleine's  person,  and  the  object  of  her 
journeys,  soon  became  well  known  by  report  within 
many  leagues  of  ]\Iont-Samt-Jean,  owing  to  her  i)er- 
severance  in  what  she  termed  a  holy  and  imperative 
duty.  It  was  now  a  common  sight  to  see  her,  even 
in  the  most  boisterous  and  snowy  winter  days,  riding 
along  some  stee])  and  narrow  path,  which,  thougu 

S* 


178  MADELEINE. 


dangerous  in  appearance,  was  perfectly  safe  with  tiie 
sui-e-footecl  Grise.  Whenever  some  passing  peasant 
happened  to  meet  her  quiet  figure  in  this  lonely  re- 
gion, the  coarse  cloth  mantle  which  she  wore  made 
him  immediately  recognize  her,  if  lie  did  not  Icnow 
her  previously,  as  "  The  Gray  Cloak  of  the  Hills,"  fur 
such  was  the  name  which  Madeleine  had  acquired  m 
her  peregrinations.  Few  of  those  who  saw  her  thus 
proceeding  on  her  eiTand  of  love,  failed  to  gaze  with 
mingled  sui-prise  and  admhation  on  tha  simple  and 
thoughtful-looking  girl,  and  all  threw  involuntary  rev- 
erence into  their  usual  greeting  of  "  May  the  blessing 
of  the  Lord  be  on  your  path !" 

"May  it  also  rest  upon  yours,"  was  Madeleine's 
rej^ly  as  she  rode  on. 

The  beginning  of  the  month  of  December  was 
marked  by  a  heavy  fall  of  snow,  soon  followed  by  a 
thaw,  which  rendered  some  of  the  paths  along  the 
hills  j)^i'ticularly  imsafe.  Seeing  the  state  of  the 
weather,  Marie  Michon  hoped  that  Madeleine  might 
be  induced  to  relinquish  a  journey  to  a  distant  village 
which  she  had  projected  for  the  following  Sunda}''. 
But,  in  spite  of  the  dark  and  threatening  aspect  ot 
the  sky,  Madeleine  persisted  in  her  purpose. 

Though  Marie  now  understood  her  character  too 
well  to  teaze  her  with  useless  remonstrances,  it  was 
with  a  heavy  heart  that  she  saw  her  depart  upon  her 
journey  at  break  of  day.  Madeleine  averred  that 
there  was  no  danger,  and  promised  to  be  back  by  the 
evening ;  but  this  did  not  dispel  Marie's  fears.  Dur- 
ing the  whole  of  the  day  she  could  think  of  nothmg 
save  Madeleine,  and  the  probable  hour  of  her  retm-n. 
That  hour  passed,  and  her  friend  came  not.     Marie's 


MADELEINE.  179 


heart  sank  within  her.  A  thousand  dismal  imairin- 
ings  crowded  to  her  mind.  What  could  have  hap- 
pened to  Madeleine  ?  And  she  thought  ^vith  inward 
misgivings  of  the  ravmes  treacherously  covered  with 
snow,  and  the  swollen  mountain-torrents  which  lay 
across  the  path  of  her  friend.  Night  liad  long  set  in, 
and  yet  Madeleine  did  not  make  her  appearance. 
Marie  communicated  her  fears  to  M.  Bignon  ;  but  the 
good  cure  could  only  share  her  distress  of  mind,  with- 
out alleviating  it. 

The  evening  ^Jassed  away  without  Lringhig  any  ti- 
dings of  Madeleine.  Many  of  the  villagers  who  felt 
anxious  about  her  called  several  times  to  learn  whether 
she  had  returned ;  but  Marie  had  no  favorable  news 
to  impart,  and  only  shook  her  head  sadly  when  peo- 
ple wondered  what  could  delay  Madeleine  so  long. 

"Why  does  she  not  come  back?"  repeatedly  asked 
little  Lise. 

"Alas  !  I  Imow  not ;  I  wish  I  did  !"  anxiously  re- 
plied Marie  ;  "  I  wish  she  would  come  back !" 

Every  one  in  the  family  naturally  felt  great  anxiety 
on  the  subject ;  but  old  Joseph,  perhaps  on  account  of 
his  infiimity,  which  kept  him  upstau'S  and  ]3revented 
him  from  hearing  all  that  passed  below,  showed  him- 
self most  uneasy,  and  whenever  Marie  or  any  other 
person  came  near  the  room  where  he  lay,  eagerly 
asked  if  Madeleine  were  not  yet  retm*ned.  Towards 
nine  o'clock  it  began  to  rain,  and  Marie's  anxiety  was 
increased  by  thinkmg  how  wet  Madeleine  would  be. 
She  sat  up  all  night,  in  the  hope  that  her  friend  would 
make  her  appearance,  but  though  she  often  strained 
her  ear  to  catch  the  distant  clatter  of  La  Grise's  hoofs^ 
ao  sounds  broke  upon  the  silence  of  her  watch ^'" 


180  MADELEINE, 


save  tliose  of  the  mingled  wind  and  rain  as  tliey  beat 
against  tlie  casement.  Unable  to  bear  this  suspense, 
Marie  put  on  her  cloak  and  went  out  into  the  silent 
street  of  the  village  ;  but  the  night  was  so  dark  that 
she  could  scarcely  see  before  her,  and  she  was  soon 
obliged  to  retrace  her  steps. 

Mommg  came  at  last ;  the  rain  still  fell  down  in 
torrents  ;  the  day  was  dark  and  di'eary.  M.  Bignon 
called  at  an  early  hour  to  know  whether  Madeleine 
had  returned,  and  learned  with  evident  pain  that  she 
had  not.  He  was  speaking  on  the  subject  with  Marie 
when  the  door  of  the  room  opened,  and  Madeleme 
quietly  entered.  She  seemed  pale  and  fatigued,  and 
her  garments  were  dripping  with  the  rain;  but  her 
look  was  so  calm  and  composed  that,  though  Marie 
at  first  started  up  with  glad  surprise,  she  merely  ob- 
served, relinquishing  her  seat  by  the  fireside,  "  Oh ! 
Madeleine,  how  wet  you  are !  sit  down  here." 

"  You  look  pale,"  anxiously  said  her  friend  as  she 
took  the  seat,  "  have  you  been  uneasy,  Marie  ?" 

"  Indeed,  I  have  been  very  uneasy,  and  so  has  M 
Bignon ;  we  have  all  been  uneasy." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  that,"  gravely  rephed  MadeleinC; 
"  bat  indeed  there  was  no  danger,  though  the  bad 
weather  delayed  me." 

"  I  sujDpose  you  spent  the  night  in  the  village 
where  you  were,"  remarked  M.  Bignon. 

"  Oh,  no !  I  left  it  as  soon  as  mass  was  over." 

"  Then  where  did  you  sleep  ?"  uneasily  asked  Marie. 

"  In  a  shed  on  the  hills,"  composedly  answered  Mad- 
eleine. 

"  Oh,  Madeleine  !  how  you  must  have  suffered  from 
the  cold !" 


MADELEINE.  181 


"  Yeiy  little,  I  assure  you,  Marie  ;  the  night  was 
BO  dark,  that  I  feared  to  proceed,  and  truly  thankful 
did  I  feel  when  I  perceived  tins  shed  at  hand ;  I  dis- 
mounted, led  in  La  Grise,  and  remained  there  until 
dawn  of  day,  when  I  resumed  my  journey." 

"Madeleine,  Madeleine,  you  will  kill  yourself!" 
'•eproach fully  exclaimed  Marie. 

"  Indeed,  my  clear  child,"  observed  the  cure^  in  a 
moved  tone,  "  to  spend  a  night  like  that,  and  in 
December  too,  in  a  wretched  shed !  You  have 
acted  very  wi'ong.  M.  Morel,  I  am  sure,  would 
have  highly  disapproved  of  your  conduct :  think  oi 
that." 

"  Why,  Madeleine,"  here  interposed  Marie,  "  I 
declare  your  clothes  are  all  wet  through ;  for  the 
love  of  the  blessed  Virgin,  go  and  change  them  in- 
stantly." Madeleine  complied  with  this  injunction, 
and  left  the  room.  As  she  passed  by  the  door  of  the 
place  where  old  Joseph  was,  he  called  her  in.  She 
entered. 

"  So  you  are  come  back,"  he  observed,  in  his  usual 
tone. 

"Do  you  want  me?"  asked  Madeleine. 

"  Ko,  I  want  nothing,"  he  briefly  replied. 

Madeleine  was  too  much  accustomed  to  Josei:»h"'s 
peculiarities  to  heed  them ;  she  accordingly  showed 
no  surprise,  but  proceeded  to  her  own  room.  In 
about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  she  came  down  again. 
Marie  Michon  was  preparing  her  breakfast,  and 
Beemed  quite  ready  to  question  her  on  every  detail  of 
her  journey.  ^Vlien  her  curiosity  was  fully  satisfied^ 
Marie,  as  though  suddenly  recollecting  something 
she  had  forgotten,  exclaimed, 


182  MADELEINE. 


"  But,  Madeleine,  you  have  not  told  us  all  this 
time  how  much  money  you  got." 

"  Here  it  is,"  calmly  said  Madeleine,  producing  her 
pocket  handkerchief,  in  which  the  little  hoard  was 
tied  up. 

Marie  undid  the  knot ;  a  few  sous  rolled  on  the 
table.  Marie  looked  up  at  her  friend,  and  her  eyes 
filled  with  tears.  Had  Madeleine  undertaken  a  weary 
journey  through  wind  and  rain,  and  passed  a  cold 
December  night  in  a  lonely  shed  on  the  hills,  merely 
for  this  ? 

"It  is  not  much,"  remarked  Madeleine,  with  a 
quiet  smile ;  "  but  we  must  be  thankful  for  whatever 
God  sends  us  ;"  and,  taking  up  the  cojjper  coins,  she 
went  to  place  them  in  the  box  where  she  kept  the 
money  destined  for  the  hospital. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

TuE  three  months  apj^ointed  by  the  notary  were 
now  drawing  to  a  close,  and  the  house  on  the  hill 
still  remained  unsold.  Though  she  preserved  her 
usually  calm  demeanor,  Madeleine  had  experienced 
considerable  anxiety  on  this  subject ;  she  never  saw  a 
well-dressed  man  in  Mont-Saint- Jean  without  dread- 
ing in  him  some  unknown  i)urchaser  of  the  sj^ot 
which  she  longed  to  possess.  Once  her  fears  seemed 
on  the  point  of  being  realized  ;  a  gentleman  of  prop- 
erty, pleased  with  the  picturesque  aspect  of  the  place, 

took  a  fancy  to  it,  and  proceeded  to  C with  the 

avowed  intention  of  treating  with  the  notary.     Mad- 


MADELEINE.  183 


eleine  happened  to  be  present  whilst  he  looked  over 
the  house,  for  whenever  she  passed  near  it,  she  could 
not  resist  the  temptation  of  examining  it  again,  to 
see  how  well  adapted  it  was  for  her  cherished  pur- 
pose ;  but,  on  this  occasion,  she  heard  the  stranger's 
expressions  of  admiration  with  a  heavy  heart.  He 
praised  the  picturesque  view  afforded  by  the  wretched 
cottages  of  Mont-Saint- Jean  as  they  rose  on  the  hill, 
whilst  she  thought  of  all  the  misery  they  concealed ; 
and,  when  he  admired  the  manner  in  which  the  sur- 
rounding grounds  were  laid  out,  she  sadly  reflected 
that  the  produce  of  that  land,  now  covered  with 
shrubs  and  flowers,  might  almost  suffice,  if  properly 
cultivated,  to  sui3port  her  intended  hospital.  A  week 
passed  away,  and,  to  Madeleine's  surprise,  the  prop- 
erty remained  unsold ;  at  the  end  of  that  time  she 
learned,  with  a  strong  feeling  of  relief,  that,  notwith- 
standing his  great  admiration  of  the  place,  the  gen- 
tleman had  never  made  his  appearance  in  the  etude 
of  M.  Lacroix. 

One  evening,  about  a  week  before  Christmas,  Mad- 
eleine was  spinning  by  the  fireside,  with  Lise  seated 
at  her  feet,  and  her  children  around  her  as  usual, 
when  Marie  Michon,  who  had  been  out  on  some 
trifling  errand,  entered.  She  sat  down  near  the  fire 
in  silence,  then  rose  to  look  for  her  work,  and  sat 
down  again  without  having  found  it.  She  seemed 
anxious  to  attract  her  friend's  attention,  but  Made- 
leine was  more  than  usually  engrossed  by  her  own 
thoughts  ;  she  had  been  counting  over  her  hoard  in 
her  room,  and  was  at  the  very  moment  wondering 
what  sort  of  an  agreement  she  ought  to  make  with 
the  notary.      Seeing  that  Madeleine  did  not  notice 


184  MADELEINE. 


her,  Marie  at  length  observed,  with  as  much  cahnnesa 
as  she  could  assume,  "That  she  supj)osed  she  had 
heard  the  news  ?" 

"  What  news  ?"  inquired  Madeleine,  suddenly  awak- 
ening from  her  revery,  and  fastening  an  anxious  look 
on  Marie. 

Her  friend  evidently  did  not  like  to  reply.  Made- 
leine repeated  her  question. 

"  "Why,"  hesitatingly  observed  Marie,  "  the  place 
is  sold ;  I  suppose  you  know  what  I  mean." 

Madeleine  knew  well  enough,  for  her  cheek  grew 
pale,  and  her  voice  quivered,  as,  after  a  brief  pause, 
she  said,  "  The  will  of  God  be  done." 

Several  persons  came  in  dm-ing  the  course  of  the 
evening;  they  confirmed  Marie's  intelligence,  and 
named  the  rich  and  titled  lady  who  had  purchased  the 
j)roperty  on  the  hill.  Every  one  wondered  at  the  com- 
posure with  which  Madeleine  bore  her  disappoint- 
ment ;  but,  to  say  the  trath,  she  was  not  so  resigned 
as  she  appeared  to  be,  and  when,  on  retiring  for  the 
night,  she  at  length  found  herself  alone,  the  repining 
thoughts  she  had  endeavored  to  suppress  till  then 
could  now  scarcely  be  controlled.  Her  first  act  was 
to  open  the  box  which  contained  the  funds  destined 
for  the  hospital  of  Mont-Saint-Jean.  Besides  the  gold 
and  notes  which  Madeleine  had  received  from  the 
villagers,  all  the  silver,  and  even  the  sous,  which  she 
had  collected  since  then  with  so  much  toil  and  trouble, 
were  here  gathered  together — four  thousand  four  hun- 
dred and  fifty-five  francs  in  all.  She  had  counted  the 
sum  over  a  few  hours  before,  her  heart  beating  with 
silent  joy  as  she  added  to  it  a  few  francs  from  her  own 
earnings  ;  but  she  gazed  upon  it  now  with  deep  sad- 


MADELEINE.  185 


ness  ;  for  Madeleine  did  not  deceive  herself,  she  knew 
that  to  erect  a  hospital  of  the  most  simple  descrip- 
tion would  still  cost  a  verj  large  sum,  and  that  if  she 
could  have  purchased  the  property  on  the  hill  for  ten 
thousand  francs,  it  would  have  been  an  immense 
saving  of  time,  money,  and  labor.  But  though,  as 
she  turned  away  from  her  melancholy  contemplation, 
her  heart  was  full  of  sadness,  it  was  at  the  same  time 
as  much  resigned  to  the  will  of  heaven  as  human 
frailty  would  allow  it  to  be. 

Several  weeks  elapsed,  and,  as  though  nothing  had 
occurred,  Madeleine  continued  her  Sunday  excur- 
sions and  her  unwearied  labor  during  the  week ;  she 
had  experienced  a  severe  disappointment,  but  her 
faith  was  still  unshaken.  The  hospital  of  Mont-Saint- 
Jean  might  not  exist  perhaps  as  soon  as  she  had  anti- 
cipated, but  that  it  would  exist  one  day  she  could  not 
doubt.  Every  one  wondered  at  this  trait  in  lier  char- 
acter, and  many  expressed  their  surprise  that,  though 
so  simple  and  unassuming,  Madeleine  should  still  have 
such  deep  faith  in  herself. 

One  morning  Marie  Michon,  who  had  gone  out  to 
see  her  brother's  family,  returned  in  a  few  minutes 
with  a  countenance  so  pregnant  of  news  that  Made- 
leine could  not  helj)  asking  her  what  was  the  matter. 

"  Oh !  Madeleine  !"  exclaimed  Marie,  "  if  you  did 
but  know  what  I  have  to  tell  you !" 

"  What  is  it  ?"  calmly  inquired  Madeleine. 

"  Oh  !  such  news  !  But  j^romise  me  you  will  neither 
be  agitated  nor — in  short,  any  thing !" 

Madeleine  looked  up.  Marie  well  knew  the  sub- 
ject which  lay  nearest  to  her  heart ;  could  she  bo 
alluding  to  it  now  ? 


186  MADELEINE, 


"  What  is  it  ?"  she  again  asked,  but  this  time  with 
a  slight  tremor  in  her  voice,  and  keeping  her  anxious 
gaze  fastened  on  Marie  as  she  spoke. 

"  Tlien  you  must  know — nay,  Madeleine,  I  will  not 
say  another  word  if  you  look  at  me  so  ;  you  must 
promise  to  be  calm." 

"  I  am  quite  calm,  Marie,  you  may  speak." 

"  What  I  have  to  say  is  about  the  house  on  the  hill. 
You  know  that  it  was  sold  about  a  month  ago  to  a 
rich  lady  of  Paris." 

"  Then  it  is  sold  after  all !"  exclaimed  Madeleine, 
who  had  begun  to  Iwpe  that  such  might  not  have 
been  the  case. 

"  Oh !  yes,  of  course,  but  what  do  you  think  has 
happened?  Why,  M.  Dupin's  heirs  and  the  lady 
have  disagreed  ;  she  declares  she  has  been  taken  in  ; 
and  is  so  annoyed  on  the  subject  that  she  has  com- 
missioned M.  Lacroix,  the  notary,  to  sell  the  whole 
property  for  ten  thousand  francs." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  this,  Marie  ?"  gravely  asked 
Madeleine,  unable  at  the  same  time  to  suppress  her 
emotion. 

"  Of  course  I  am  sure  of  it ;  I  met  Pierre,  who  is 

just  come  from  C ,  where  he  saw  the  notary,  who 

told  him  that  if  you  still  wished  for  it  you  might 
have  the  house  now.  But,  how  is  this,  Madeleine, 
your  eyes  are  filled  with  tears :  I  thought  you  would 
be  glad." 

"  Dost  thou  not  see  that  I  am  happy,  very  happy  ?" 
replied  Madeleine,  with  a  smile  suflicient  to  show  tlie 
truth  of  her  words. 

The  good  tidings  were  immediately  communicated 
to  M.  Bignon  and  the  mayor,  who  both  agreed  that 


MADELEINIJ.  187 


Madeleine  ought  now  to  see  the  notary  with  as  little 
delay  as  possible,  and  expressed  their  readiness  to 

accompany  her   to  C ,  which  was  accordingly 

effected  on  the  following  day. 

After  a  good  deal  of  debating,  in  which  M.  Dubois 
showed  himself  very  zealous  for  Madeleine's  interest, 
the  notary,  who  had  received  great  latitude  from  his 
client,  agreed  to  sell  the  proj^erty  for  nine  thousand 
and  five  hundred  francs.  As  Madeleine  could  not 
pay  the  whole  of  this  sum  at  once,  he  consented  to 
receive  it  in  three  different  j^ayments  ;  the  first,  of 
four  thousand  five  hundred  francs,  to  take  place  on 
the  present  day,  the  twenty-seventh  of  Januar_y,  of 
the  year  18 — ;  the  second,  of  two  thousand  five  hun- 
dred francs,  was  fixed  for  Midsummer  Day ;  and  the 
third,  also  of  two  thousand  five  hundred  francs,  for 
Saint  Martin's  Day,  which  falls  on  the  eleventh  of 
Is^ovember.  M.  Lacroix,  however,  stipulated  that 
Madeleine  should  not  enter  into  possession  of  the 
property  until  the  entire  sum  was  in  his  hands ;  and 
that,  moreover,  if  it  was  not  paid  within  the  appointed 
time,  half  of  the  money  then  ii;  his  possession  should 
be  forfeited.  Madeleine  raised  no  objection  to  the 
first  clause,  but  the  last  evidently  startled  her. 

"You  know,  sir,"  she  said,  anxiously  looking  at 
the  notary,  "  that  the  money  is  not  mine  ;  that  it  be- 
longs to  the  poor." 

The  notary,  however,  protested  against  any  such 
knowledge  ;  the  name  set  down  in  the  agreement  was 
that  of  Madeleine  Guerin,  the  poor  were  not  men- 
tioned once ;  it  was  with  Madeleine  Guerin  L  e  was 
dealing,  and  if  she  could  not  pay  the  money  she  owed, 
it  was  Madeleine  Guerin  who  must  sufler. 


188  MADELEINE. 

As,  notwithstauding  the  politeness  of  his  manner, 
he  was  quite  inflexible  on  this  point,  Madeleine  did 
not  nrge  it  farther,  but,  turning  towards  the  cure  and 
the  major,  asked  for  their  advice. 

"  Ah  !"  said  M,  Bignon,  with  a  sigh,  "  what  ad 
vice  can  I  give  you,  Madeleine  ?     There  was  one, 
indeed,  who,  w'ere  he  living — but  he  is  gone  :   may 
the  holy  will  of  God  be  done  !" 

"  But  what  ought  I  to  do,  sir  ?"  urged  Madeleine. 

M.  Bignon  took  a  pinch  of  snuff,  remained  silent 
for  a  while,  and,  looking  up,  at  length  observed,  with 
perfect  sincerity  and  good  faith, 

"  Madeleine,  the  best  advice  I  can  give  you,  is  to 
try  and  think  how  he  would  have  told  you  to  act  on 
this  occasion.  You  knew  him  well,  Madeleine,"  he 
added,  in  a  softened  tone  ;  "  I  dare  say  you  will  be 
able  to  imagine  all  he  would  have  said,  ay,  and  the 
very  look  with  which  he  would  have  said  it  too." 

When  he  had  given  Madeleine  this  piece  of  ad 
vice,  M.  Bignon  shook  his  head,  sighed,  and  fell  into 
a  fit  of  melancholy  musing,  as  he  always  did  when- 
ever the  conversation  turned  on  his  late  friend. 

Madeleine's  look  lingered  a  while  with  gentle  pity 
on  the  cure's  abstracted  countenance,  and  then  turned 
inquiringly  towards  M.  Dubois.  This  worthy  per- 
sonage had  heard,  with  something  very  like  a  sneer  of 
contempt,  M.  Bignon's  advice,  and  on  being  now  con- 
sulted by  Madeleine  in  his  turn,  he  drew  himself  up, 
assumed  a  consequential  air,  and,  whilst  the  notary 
impatiently  mended  his  pen,  slowly  began,  "  My  deai 
Madeleine,  the  question  is,  whether  3'ou  are  to  agree 
to  this  condition  or  not.  I  believe  that  is  the  ques- 
tion," added  M.  Dubois,  with  a  look  of  very  great 


MADELEINE.  189 


depth ;  "  well  then,  let  us  examine  it.  If  you  do 
agree  to  this  condition,  Madeleine,  you  must  reflect 
that  it  will  be  necessary  to  be  able  to  pay  the  money 
within  the  appointed  time,  else  you  lose  half  of  it ; 
bear  that  in  mind  ;  do  not  forget  it.  If  you  do  not 
agree  to  this  condition,  I  believe  M.  Lacroix  there 
will  insist  on  your  paying  down  all  the  money  at 
once  ;  mind  that.  Now,  Madeleine,  what  are  you  to 
do  ?  Are  you  to  run  the  risk  and  perhaps  lose  half 
of  the  money,  or  will  you  act  better  by  giving  up  the 
bargain  altogether  ?  It  is  a  nice  question ;  I  have 
stated  both  sides  fairly ;  weigh  it  well.  You  have 
my  advice  ;  act  upon  it  if  you  choose." 

After  having  delivered  this  oration,  M.  Dubois  sat 
down,  wiped  his  forehead,  and  looked  aroimd  him 
with  a  self-satisfied  air.  Madeleine  had  listened  to 
both  her  advisers  with  great  gravity,  for  she  had 
naturally  little  turn  for  the  ludicrous,  and  the  circum- 
stance which  formed  the  subject  of  the  present  debate 
was  to  her  far  too  serious  to  allow  even  a  smile  at  the 
expense  of  her  kind-hearted,  though  not  very  clear- 
minded,  friends.  When  M.  Dubois  had  done  speak- 
ing, she  remained  for  a  few  minutes  like  one  lost  in 
thought,  then  rose,  and,  without  uttering  a  word, 
walked  to  the  table,  took  up  a  pen,  and  wrote  her 
name  at  the  bottom  of  the  deed  drawn  up  by  the 
notary,  and  which  only  wanted  her  signature  to  ren- 
der it  valid. 

When  this  decisive  act  was  concluded,  and  the  four 
thousand  five  hundred  francs  had  been  deposited  in 
the  hands  of  M.  Lacroix,  Madeleine  left  his  study 
with  her  two  friends. 

"  Well,  Madeleine,"  said  M.  Dubois,  as  they  pro 


190  MADELEINE. 


ceeded  homewards,  "  you  have  paid  a  large  sum  to- 
day, but  how  will  you  pay  the  five  thousand  francs 
still  remaining  ?" 

"  God,  who  sent  me  the  fom-  thousand  five  hundred 
francs,  will,  perhaps,  also  send  me  the  other  five 
thousand,"  answered  Madeleine. 

The  mayor  shook  his  head  skeptically  ;  he  was  by 
no  means  inclined  to  believe  in  the  frequent  interpo- 
sition of  Providence,  and  on  this  occasion  he  could 
not  help  thinking  that  if  Madeleine  had  not  received 
four  thousand  francs  from  Mont-Saint-Jean,  she  could 
not  have  paid  that  sum  to  the  notary  a  few  minutes 
before.  Had  he  s]3oken  aloud,  Madeleine  would  have 
told  him  that  in  her  belief  whatever  came  through 
human  means  was  still  the  gift  of  God ;  that  she 
hoped  for  no  miracle,  but  confined  herself  to  the 
limits  of  what  was  possible,  never  leaving  to  Provi- 
dence what  she  could  possibly  afiect  by  earthly 
means,  but  at  the  same  time  keej)ing  her  faith  un- 
shaken and  unchanged  through  every  trial,  for, 
though  an  open  miracle  might  have  confirmed  it,  it 
could  not  have  rendered  it  more  firm  or  more  deeply 
rooted. 

"  Well,"  observed  M.  Dnbois,  after  a  short  pause, 
"  whatever  may  happen,  Madeleine,  remember  that 
I  gave  you  good  advice."  The  worthy  mayor  did 
not  say  in  what  this  advice  consisted,  and  wisely  ab 
stained  from  determining  whether  Madeleine  had  fol- 
lowed it  or  not,  for,  by  leaving  the  matter  in  a  kind 
of  doubt,  his  credit  as  a  prndent  adviser  would  remain 
unshaken,  however  events  might  turn  out.  The  word 
advice  roused  M.  Bignon  from  his  revery. 

"  Yes,  Madeleine,"  said  he,  interpreting  it  his  own 


MADELEINE.  101 

way,  "  if  you  have  acted  as  he  would  Lave  advised, 
you  need  not  fear,  for,  depend  upon  it,  it  was  right. 
And  yet,  child,  I  wish  I  knew  how  you  will  get  the 
money." 

"  "VVe  must  leave  that  to  God ,  He  will  take  his 
own  time,  sir." 

"  Eight  again,  Madeleine ;  he  always  said  that  we 
should  leave  every  thing  to  the  will  of  heaven." 

^Notwithstanding  the  evident  uneasiness  manifested 
by  her  two  friends,  Madeleine  was  perfectly  calm. 
She  was  quite  aware,  however,  of  the  risk  she  ran, 
but  she  also  saw  that  it  was  unavoidable,  that  she 
could  not  have  secured  the  property  without  incur- 
ring this  risk,  and  that  now  the  step  was  taken  it 
would  be  useless  and  even  wrong  to  allow  her  mind 
to  be  disturbed  by  vain  doubts  and  fears.  "  And 
why  should  she  fear  ?"  urged  that  strong  faith  which 
dwelt  within  her  ;  "  a  few  months  before  she  did  not 
own  a  single  franc  for  her  hospital,  and  not  an  hour 
before  she  had  parted  with  a  large  sum,  destined  to 
purchase  the  building.  True,  she  might  not  obtain 
the  money  she  still  wanted  by  the  same  means,  but 
could  not  God,  after  sending  it  in  one  way,  now  send 
it  in  another  ?" 

Thus  reasoned  Madeleine  in  her  simple  philoso- 
phy, as  she  returned  with  a  light  and  happy  heart  to 
Mont-Saint-Jean. 


192  MADELEINE. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Madeleine's  life  had  hitlierto  been  considered  one 
of  severe  toil,  but  it  was  now  generally  pronounced 
actual  slavery.  She  felt  indeed  that  whilst  appealing 
to  the  chanty  of  others  her  own  endeavors  ought  not 
to  be  relaxed,  but  rather  increased.  To  whom  ought 
tlie  cause  of  the  hospital  of  Mont-Saint- Jean  to  be  so 
dear  as  to  her  ?  and  urged  by  this  thought  Madeleine 
worked  incessantly.  Many  pitied  her,  but  she  de- 
clared with  truth  that  she  had  never  been  so  happy 
as  now, 

Notwithstanding  the  severity  of  the  weather,  Mad- 
eleine persevered  in  her  Sunday  journeys  during 
the  whole  of  the  winter.  Once  she  was  nearly  lost 
in  the  snow,  and  another  time  narrowly  escaped 
drowning  as  she  crossed  a  mountain-torrent.  But 
her  deliverance  from  these  dangers,  the  thought  of 
which  filled  Marie  with  alarm,  only  confirmed  Made- 
leine's faith  and  courage.  When  spring  returned, 
her  excursions  became  both  more  pleasant  and  prof- 
itable, for,  this  being  the  time  when  the  rich  leave 
Paris  for  their  country  residences,  many  of  the  ladies 
who  attended  the  village  churches  made  Madeleine 
very  handsome  donations,  which  in  less  than  three 
months  amounted  to  about  five  hundred  francs.  But 
Midsummer  Day  was  approaching,  and  Madeleine 
had  still  two  thousand  francs  to  procure.  M.  Bignon 
now  came  to  her  aid ;  he  not  only  gave  her  fifty 
francs  of  his  own  money,  but  also  on  her  suggestion 


MADELEINE.  193 


wrote  to  several  parish  priests  of  the  villages  which 
were  too  far  for  her  to  visit,  requesting  them  to  soli- 
cit the  aid  of  their  parishioners  in  favor  of  the  hosj)i- 
tal  of  Mont-Saiut-Jeau.  About  six  hundred  francs 
were  thus  obtained. 

Matters  were  going  on  thus  smoothly,  when  to- 
wards the  beginning  of  May  an  event  occurred  which 
proved  most  unwelcome  to  Madeleine  and  M.  Bi- 
gnon  ;  this  was  the  death  of  La  Grise,  his  faithful  and 
serviceable  mare.  The  good  cure  was  chiefly  grieved 
for  Madeleine,  for  though,  as  he  averred.  La  Grise 
had  been  the  most  intelligent  and  sure-footed  of  her 
species,  he  seldom  put  her  powers  to  the  test,  "  and 
now,"  he  added  with  a  sigh,  "  that  he  no  longer  rode 
to  Puysaye  he  had  little  need  of  her  services  him- 
self." 

Marie  Michon  now  knew  Madeleine  too  well  to 
think  that  this  loss  could  induce  her  to  discontinue 
her  weekly  journeys,  yet  she  dreaded  to  question 
her  on  the  subject ;  when  she  saw  her,  however,  on 
a  Friday  evening  making  those  preparations  which 
she  usually  kept  for  the  Saturday,  she  asked  her  the 
cause  of  this. 

"Thou  knowest,"  answered  Madeleine,  "that  the 

loss  of  La  Grise  compels  me  now  to  manage  as  well 

as  I  can.     It  takes  so  much  more  time  to  walk  tban 

to  ride,  that  instead  of  leaving  here  on  the  Sunday  I 

must  go  on  Saturday.    Farmer  Nicolas's  wife  is  going 

to  market  to-morrow  morning,  and  she  has  offered  to 

take  me  on  her  horse  as  far  as  C ,  which,  though 

it  leads  me  somewhat  out  of  my  way,  spares  me  at 

least  a  walk  of  seven  leagues.     The  distance  from 

C to  Cherson.  where  I  am  going,  is  about  ten 

9 


194  MADELEINE, 


leagues  ;  five  I  can  walk  to-morrow  afternoon,  and 
five  on  Sunday  morning." 

"  And  where  will  you  sleep  ?"  anxiously  asked 
Marie. 

"  I  know  not,"  comi30sedly  answered  Madeleine, 
"  but  I  shall  probably  find  some  place  of  shelter  on 
my  way." 

"  But  Madeleine,"  observed  Marie,  after  a  brief 
pause,  "  does  it  not  strike  you  that  you  shall  lose  at 
least  two  days  by  this,  and  do  you  think  that  what 
you  can  get  at  Cherson  will  be  worth  the  trouble 
you  take  ?" 

"  There  are  rich  people  living  there,  I  hear ;  be- 
sides, now  that  we  have  so  little  work  to  do,  Marie, 
I  do  not  risk  much  by  going." 

Marie  did  not  urge  the  point,  nor  did  she  remon- 
strate with  Madeleine  on  the  fatigue  to  which  she 
was  going  to  expose  herself,  for  she  knew  that  this 
consideration  would  produce  little  eifect  on  her  friend, 
though  it  rendered  her  uneasy  and  thoughtful  for  the 
whole  of  the  evening. 

The  next  morning  Madeleine  sat  out  at  an  early 
hour   with   farmer   Nicolas's   wife,    and   arrived   at 

C towards   noon.      Here  she  rested  for  about 

one  or  two  hours,  and  then  proceeded  on  her  journey. 

The  day  was  lovely,  though  very  warm  ;  but  her 
road  fortunately  lay  through  a  cool  and  sequestered 
valley  of  considerable  extent.  When  evening  came 
on,  Madeleine  stopped  at  the  door  of  a  large  farm, 
and  asked  to  be  allowed  to  pass  the  night  in  the 
cow-house.  Her  request  was  granted,  and  her  quiet, 
modest  manners  so  worked  upon  the  heart,  and  also 
perhaps  on  the  curiosity  of  the  fermiere,  that  she 


MADELEINE.  195 


spontaneously  invited  her  to  join  the  family  at  snjv 
per.  Here,  of  course,  Madeleine  was  narrowly  ques- 
tioned as  to  her  history,  errand,  &c.  ISTothing  could 
exceed  the  surprise  of  the  farmer  and  his  wife  when 
they  learned  that  Madeleine  was  going  to  Cherson 
merely  to  make  a  collection  in  lavor  of  a  hospital, 
which  w^ould  only  be  a  bm-den  to  her  even  when  she 
had  accomplished  her  object.  Her  brief  and  simple 
answers,  however,  produced  a  favorable  impression 
on  her  hostess,  who  declared  that  as  she  had  a  bed 
to  spare  there  was  no  necessity  for  Madeleine  to  sleep 
in  the  cow-house,  as  had  first  been  proposed. 

Madeleine  rose  at  dawn  of  day  and  left  the  farm, 
not,  however,  without  thanking  the  kind  farmer,  who 
assured  her  that  whenever  she  came  that  way  she 
should  always  be  a  welcome  guest.  Madeleine  ar- 
rived at  Cherson  a  few  minutes  before  mass  began  ; 
she  mingled  with  the  congregation,  and  when  the 
service  was  over,  took  her  stand  at  the  door  of  the 
church,  holding  a  small  wooden  plate  in  her  hand, 
and  uttering  her  usual  petition,  "  Eemember  the 
hospital  of  Mont-Saint- Jean."  Most  of  the  individu- 
als who  granted  her  request  only  dropped  one  or  two 
sous  each  into  the  plate ;  and  some  who  evidently 
ranked  as  the  great  ones  of  Cherson  ostentatiously 
placed  a  silver  half-franc  piece  amongst  the  plebeian 
coppers ;  a  richly-dressed  lady  who  came  out  amongst 
the  last,  gave  a  two-franc  -piecQ  She  gazed  earnestly 
at  Madeleine  as  she  did  so,  and  seemed  on  the  point 
of  addressing  her,  but  a  group  which  suddenly  came 
between  her  and  the  object  of  her  attention  prevented 
her  from  doinor  so 

As  soon  as  her  collection  was  over,  Madeleine,  who 


-9G  MADELEINE, 


felt  completely  exhausted  through  hunger  and  fatigue, 
hastened  to  leave  Cherson  and  to  repair  to  a  quiet  and 
secluded  spot  which  she  had  noticed  in  the  morning. 
It  v/as  merely  a  little  cluster  of  trees  growing  near  a 
running  brook,  but  affording  a  thick  and  grateful 
shade.  Here  she  sat  down,  laved  her  hands,  face, 
and  wearied  feet  in  the  cool  water,  and  when  her 
ablutions  were  over  took  her  frugal  repast.  She 
did  not,  however,  resume  her  journey  immediately, 
but  waited  until  the  heat  of  the  day  was  piirtly  passed. 
Having  then  learned  from  a  peasant  the  direction  she 
should  take — for  as  she   did  not  intend  to  return 

through  C her  road  was  necessarily  altered — she 

resumed  her  journey. 

The  heat  of  the  day  was  still  very  great,  and  Made- 
leine felt  it  the  more  that  she  was  already  much  fa- 
tigued, and  that  her  road  lay  across  fields,  where  she 
M'^as  fully  exposed  to  the  burning  rays  of  the  sun. 
After  walking  for  about  an  hour  she  reached  a  small 
but  shady  wood,  where,  tempted  by  the  delightful 
coolness  of  the  atmosphere,  she  sat  down  for  a  few 
minutes.  She  had  not  been  there  long  when  the 
sound  of  many  voices  attracted  her  attention.  Look- 
ing through  the  trees,  she  perceived  a  large  party  of 
ladies  and  gentlemen  coming  towards  her.  She  rose 
and  stepped  on  one  side,  but  a  lady  who  was  con- 
isiderably  in  advance  of  the  rest  perceived  her,  and, 
after  looking  at  her  for  a  few  minutes,  beckoned  her 
to  draw  near.  Madeleine  complied,  and  recognized 
the  donor  of  the  two-franc  piece. 

"  Did  you  not  stand  at  the  door  of  the  church  ol 
Cherson  this  morning  ?"  asked  the  lady. 

"  I  did,  madame." 


MADELEINE.  197 


"  You  were  asking  contributions  for  some  hospital 
or  other,  were  you  not  V' 

"  For  that  of  Mont-Saint-Jean,  madame." 

"  Where  is  Mont-Saint- Jean  ?" 

Madeleine  looked  uj)  with  some  surprise,  but  re- 
plied that  it  was  a  village  in  the  hills,  about  seven- 
teen leagues  distant. 

"And  have  you  come  all  that  way  to  make  a  col- 
lection in  Cherson  ?"  inquired  the  lady,  with  a  won- 
dering glance. 

"  Oh,  yes !  I  am  going  back  there  now." 

"  How  much  did  you  get  this  morning  ?" 

"  Eight  francs  and  five  sous.*' 

"  That  was  very  little." 

"  Oh,  no,  madame !  I  sometimes  get  much  less." 

"  Sometimes !  Then  you  are  in  the  habit  of  trav- 
elling ?" 

"  I  do  so  every  Sunday." 

"  How  do  you  travel  ?" 

"  M.  Bignon  used  to  lend  mc  his  mare,  but  she 
died  last  week,  so  I  shall  now  be  obliged  to  walk." 

"But  is  it  to  collect  money  for  the  hospital  that 
you  take  these  journeys?" 

"  Of  course,  madame,"  answered  Madeleine,  with  a 
wondering  smile  ;  "  for  what  else  should  I  travel  ?" 

The  lady  gazed  with  surprise  on  the  slender  and 
simple-looking  jjeasant  girl, 

"What  is  your  name?"  she  asked,  after  a  briel 
pause, 

"  Madeleine  Guerin,  madame." 

"Well,  tlien,  Madeleine,  why  do  you  take  such  an 
interest  in  the  hospital  of  Mont-Saint-Jean  ?" 

"  Because  it  is  1  who  am  to  purchase  the  house 


198  MADELEINE, 


which  is  to  be  the  hospital,"  simply  replied  Made- 
leine. 

"  Then  it  does  not  exist  yet  ?" 

"  Oh,  no !  bnt  I  have  already  paid  four  thousand 
five  hundred  francs  to  M.  Lacroix,  and  I  owe  him 
five  thousand  more." 

"But  you  must  be  rich,  Madeleine,  to  be  able  to 
found  a  hospital  ?" 

"  I^ay,  madame,  I  have  only  what  the  goodness  of 
God,  my  own  labor,  and  the  charity  of  the  world  can 
give  me." 

"Then,  since  you  are  not  rich,  how  came  you  to 
think  of  so  great  an  undertaking  ?" 

"  Because  the  poor  wanted  a  hospital,  madame  ; 
for  no  other  reason." 

"  But  how  will  you  pay  the  five  thousand  francs 
which  you  say  you  still  owe  ?" 

"  I  shall  collect  part  of  the  money  as  I  did  to-day ; 
Marie  Michon  and  I  will  try  to  earn  the  rest." 

"  My  poor  child,"  compassionately  said  the  lady, 
"  you  will  be  very  long  before  you  have  five  thousand 
francs." 

"  I  have  already  got  upwards  of  eleven  hundred 
and  fifty  francs,  and  the  rest  must  be  paid  by  next 
Saint  Martin's  day." 

"Are  you  not  afraid  not  to  have  the  money  in 
time  ?" 

"  God  is  good,  madame." 

The  rest  of  the  party  now  came  up  and  looked  with 
some  curiosity  upon  Madeleine.  The  lady  turned 
towards  her  friends,  and  briefly  telling  them  who  she 
was,  made  the  young  girl  rej)eat  her  little  history. 
This  she  did  simply,  but  with  a  mixture  of  originality 


MADELEINE.  199 


and  naivete  wliich  amused  wliile  it  interested  tlic 
listeners. 

"And  now,"  said  the  lady,  Vv'lien  she  bad  con- 
cluded, "what  shall  we  do  for  this  poor  girl  who 
came  a  distance  of  seventeen  leagues  to  get  eight 
francs  five  sous  for  the  hospital  of  Mont-Saint- Jean  ?" 
Without  waiting  for  a  reply  she  opened  her  richly 
embroidered  reticule,  and,  going  round,  smilingly 
bade  every  one  remember  the  hospital  of  Mont-Saint- 
Jean. 

The  appeal  was  very  successful.  All  those  present 
were  rich,  and  the  least  each  gave  wa^  five  francs. 
Several  dropped  much  larger  sums  into  the  bag ;  and 
Madeleine,  who  watched  the  proceedings  with  a  beat- 
ing heart,  saw  one  gentleman  give  a  jN^apoleon.  When 
the  lady  had  gone  romid,  and  contributed  her  own 
offering,  she  turned  to  Madeleine,  and,  bidding  her 
sit  down,  poured  the  contents  of  the  bag  into  her  lap. 

"  Let  us  count  how  much  you  have  got,"  she  said, 
with  a  smile.  The  whole  sum  amounted  to  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty  francs. 

"  A  hundred  and  fifty  francs !"  exclaimed  Made- 
leine. "  Oh,  madame,  are  you  sure  it  is  indeed  so 
much?"  And  she  looked  at  the  glittering  heap  with 
glistening  eyes  and  clasped  hands. 

"Yes,  Madeleine,  it  is  indeed  a  hundred  and  fifty 
francs;  and  I  shall  get  you  more  money  for  your 
hospital,  if  you  will  only  tell  me  where  to  send  it." 

"  To  M.  Bignon,  madame,  if  you  will  be  so  kind." 

"Who  is  M.  Bignon,  and  where  does  he  live?" 
asked  the  lady,  with  a  smile. 

"  He  is  our  cure^  madame,  and  lives  at  Mont-Saint- 
Jean." 


200  MADELEINE. 


"Well,  Madeleine,  you  must  be  fatigued.  "Will 
you  stop  witli  me  for  this  day  and  rest  yourself?" 

"You  are  very  kind,  madame;  but  I  promised 
Marie  to  return  as  soon  as  I  could.  She  knows  I 
shall  have  to  walk  home,  and  would  think  something 
happened  to  me  if  I  delayed.*' 

"  Who  is  she  ?  your  sister  ?" 

"  She  is  my  friend,  and  lives  with  me." 

"  Well,  I  will  not  keep  you  if  it  is  so,  Madeleine. 
Farewell ;  you  shall  hear  from  me  again," 

Madeleine,  however,  did  not  leave  the  spot — she 
wanted  to  make  some  acknowledgment  to  the  lady 
and  her  friends  who  had  so  kindly  assisted  her ;  but 
she  did  not  know  how  to  do  this. 

"  Madame,"  said  she  at  length,  "  w^ill  you  be  kind 
enough  to  tell  me  your  name  ?" 

"  Madame  de  Boissy.  But  why  do  you  ask,  Mad- 
eleine ?" 

"  Because,"  replied  Madeleine,  "  when  the  hospital 
is  open  I  shall  tell  all  the  poor  people  in  it  to  pray 
for  Madame  de  Boissy  and  her  friends.  And  per- 
haps you  would  like  to  know  when  it  is  open,"  she 
added  after  a  moment's  reflection,  "  as  well  as  Mes- 
sieurs et  Mesdames,"  she  continued,  hesitatingly 
glancing  round  on  the  company. 

All  protested  nothing  could  give  them  greater 
pleasure  than  such  an  event.  Madeleine's  coun- 
tenance brightened  up,  for  she  had  no  difficulty  in 
believing  this.  Her  own  interest  in  the  hospital  of 
Mont-Saint-Jean  was  so  deep  that  it  seemed  natural 
every  one  should  share  in  it.  And  who  would  not, 
she  thought,  be  happy  to  hear  of  a  home  being  open- 
ed to  the  sick  and  the  poor  ?    With  much  simplicity 


MADELEINE.  201 


and  good  faith  she  therefore  assured  those  present 
that  she  would  not  fail  to  let  them  know  when  the 
hospital  was  opened.  This  she  repeated  several 
times,  as  though  desirous  of  impressing  them  with 
her  sincerity ;  after  which  she  bade  the  company 
farewell,  and  departed,  wondering  at  the  same  time 
why  they  smiled  and  looked  at  one  another. 

Madeleine  walked  durins;  the  whole  of  the  dav, 
and  spent  the  night  at  a  quiet  little  inn  on  her  way. 
She  resumed  her  journey  the  following  morning, 
and  reached  Mont-Saint-Jean  towards  dusk.  Lisc, 
who  saw  her  coming,  ran  joyously  to  meet  her,  and 
informed  her  that  Marie  was  sitting  at  the  door 
waiting  for  her. 

"  Oh,  Madeleine !"  reproachfully  exclaimed  Marie, 
when  she  drew  near  the  house,  "  how  tired  you  look ! 
I  am  sure  you  have  walked  all  the  way  home ;  and 
for  what  ?  for  a  few  sous,  perhaps." 

l!s^ow  was  the  time  for  Madeleine's  quiet  triumph  ; 
^vithout  making  any  reply  she  displayed  her  little 
treasure  to  Marie's  bewildered  glance. 

"  And  have  you  really  brought  back  all  this  ?''  at 
length  observed  Marie.  "Holy  Yirgin,  here  is  a 
piece  of  gold !  A  hundred  and  fifty-eight  francs  in 
all !  Ah,  Madeleine,  there  is  a  charm  al)0ut  you, 
and  that  is  why  people  give  you  so  much  !" 

"jS'ay,"  returned  Madeleine,  with  a  smile,  "it  is 
to  the  poor  they  give.  AVho  would  not  be  glad  to 
give  to  the  poor  V 

Marie  shook  her  head  skeptically.  "  I  tell  you, 
Madeleine,"  she  insisted.  "  that  it  is  to  you  the  money 
is  given ;  but  I  suj)pose  you  will  never  acknowledge 
chat;  so  just  tell  me  how  you  got  so  large  a  sum." 

9* 


202  MADELEINE 


Madeleine  told  her,  and  related  the  few  incidents 
of  her  journey.  As  she  thought  of  Madeleine's  suc- 
cess, and  then  of  the  fatigue  she  had  endured,  Marie 
was  glad  and  sad  by  turns ;  but  it  was  the  latter  feel- 
ing which  predominated,  in  spite  of  the  hundred  and 
fifty-eight  francs, 

"  She  will  kill  herself,"  she  sadly  repeated,  in  a  low 
tone,  as  she  marked  Madeleine's  evident  weariness  ; 
"  she  will  kill  herself  with  all  this  toil  and  fatigue." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Madame  de  Boissy  kept  her  word,  and  about  throe 
weeks  after  her  meeting  with  Madeleine  she  forwarded 
to  M.  Bignon  a  sum  of  three  hundred  and  fifty  francs 
which  she  had  collected  for  the  hospital  of  Mont- 
Saint-Jean.  This  proved  a  very  welcome  addition  to 
Madeleine's  hoard,  for  Midsummer  day  was  approach- 
ing, and,  in  spite  of  her  efforts,  she  feared  she  should 
not  have  the  sum  of  two  thousand  five  hundred  francs 
1)y  that  time. 

Her  fears  were  realized  ;  all  she  could  put  together 
was  two  thousand  francs,  and  she  had  to  impose  upon 
herself  numerous  privations  in  order  to  effect  so  much. 

When  she  went  to  C with  this  sura,  the  notary 

was  extremely  dissatisfied,  and  declared  that  he  ex- 
ceeded his  instructions  in  not  insisting  on  the  pay- 
ment of  the  whole  amount. 

"  But  remember,"  he  added,  whilst  giving  the 
receipt  for  the  money,  "  I  must  have  three  thousand 
francs  for  Saint  Martin's  day." 


MADELEINE.  203 


"  And  if  I  have  not  got  the  money  then  ?'*  anxiously 
asked  Madeleine. 

"  "Well,"  rej)lied  M.  Lacroix,  seemingly  astonished 
at  the  question,  "you  know  the  agreement  between 
us  ;  half  of  the  money  is  to  be  forfeited." 

Madeleine's  heart  sank  within  her.  That  money 
of  which  the  notary  spoke  so  lightly,  but  which  it 
had  cost  her  so  much  toil  and  trouble  to  put  together, 
seemed  to  her  like  some  holy  treasure  which  it  would 
be  sacrilege  to  touch  ;  but  she  remembered  that  the 
agreement  did  indeed  give  the  notary  the  right  to 
which  he  alluded,  and  she  merely  said,  , 

"  The  will  of  God  be  done." 

All  the  way  home,  however,  Madeleine  asked  her- 
self: "  How  shall  I  get  three  thousand  francs  by  next 
November  ?" 

Madeleine  now  began  to  think  that  she  had  acted 
rashly  in  taking  upon  herself  a  task  above  her 
strength.  Every  thing  seemed  calculated  to  make 
her  yield  to  discouragement ;  her  pensioners  became 
more  helpless  every  day ;  the  garden  only  yielded  a 
scanty  supply  of  vegetables,  and  little  or  no  fruit,  so 
that  whatever  she  and  Marie  Michon  could  earn  was 
barely  sufficient  to  support  the  family.  I*fotwith- 
standing  the  great  labor  and  fotigue  with  which  her 
Sunday  excursions  were  attended,  they  ceased  to  be 
as  productive  as  they  had  once  been,  for,  as  the  fine 
weather  passed  away,  the  rich  left  the  country,  and 
the  poor  were  getting  rather  tired  of  hearing  about 
the  hospital  of  Mont-Saint-Jean.  All  that  Madeleine 
had  collected  at  the  end  of  three  months  was  three 
himdred  and  fifty  francs,  and  in  about  six  weeks  more 
she  would  be  called  upon  to  pay  three  thousand ! 


204  MADELEINE. 


After  spending  many  sleepless  and  anxious  nights 
in  thinking  on  this  subject,  Madeleine  resolved  to 
ai:)peal  to  the  mayor  of  the  village — no  longer  M. 
Dubois,  for  the  office  is  elective — and  request  him  to 
convene  a  general  meeting  of  the  inhabitants,  who 
might,  she  thought,  be  willing  to  assist  her  in  her 
present  difficult  position.  It  was  not  without  strong 
reluctance  that  Madeleine  determined  on  taking  this 
step,  but  she  sacrificed  her  feelings  of  pride  to  what 
she  considered  a  holy  duty.  "When  she  imparted 
her  resolution  to  M.  Bignon,  and  lamented  the  im- 
prudence which  had  led  her  to  incur  such  a  risk  as 
that  which  she  now  ran,  he  consoled  her  as  well  as 
he  could,  and  failed  not  to  assure  her  that  if  she  had 
only  acted  as  M.  Morel  would  have  advised  her  all 
would  3^et  be  right,  M.  Dubois,  on  the  contrary, 
asserted  that  Madeleine's  misfortunes  proceeded 
merely  from  her  disregard  of  the  excellent  counsel 
he  gave  her  when  the  agreement  was  made.  As  to 
her  proposed  plan  of  ap]3ealing  to  the  commune,  he 
l^redicted  that  it  would  prove  a  complete  failure. 
Had  he  been  mayor  indeed ! — but  what  could  she 
expect  from  a  poor  ignorant  man  like  farmer  Mathurin, 
who  no^^•  held  the  office,  and  whom  the  ungrateful 
Jean  Eenaud  looked  upon  with  as  high  reverence  as 
that  he  had  paid  to  his  former  superior.  There  was 
a  good  deal  more  in  the  same  strain,  for,  as  the  ex- 
mayor  had  only  recently  been  dispossessed  of  his  high 
dignity,  the  subject  still  proved  a  sore  one ;  but  the 
end  of  it  was  that  he  would  be  j^resent  at  the  meeting 
and  promote  Madeleine's  cause  as  much  as  his  present 
humbled  state  allowed. 

Farmer  Mathurin  heard  Madeleine's  statement  and 


MADELEINE.  205 


request  very  favorably,  but  without  holding  out  to 
her  great  hopes  of  success  ?  Madeleine  herself  had 
none.  But,  as  she  observed  to  Marie  before  setting 
out  for  the  meeting,  it  would  have  been  a  sin  indeed 
to  withhold  from  making  this  trial  through  pride. 

When  Madeleine  entered  the  raairie  she  found  that, 
besides  the  individuals  who  had  presented  her  with 
the  three  thousand  francs  a  year  before,  there  were 
several  other  persons  present.  They  all  received  her 
with  a  formality  which  boded  no  good.  Seeing  that 
they  were  in  no  hurry  to  learn  the  purpose  which 
had  brought  her  thither,  she  was  the  first  to  broach 
the  subject. 

"  I  am  come,"  she  quietly  observed,  "  to  speak 
about  the  hospital  of  Mont-Saint-Jean," 

These  words  were  received  in  a  chilling  silence. 

"It  is  now  about  a  year,"  continued  Madeleine, 
"  since  I  received  from  you  three  thousand  francs  for 
the  hospital ;  M.  Dubois  gave  me  a  thousand  more 
from  the  commune,  which,  with  the  five  hundred  1 
added   myself,    made    four  thousand  five    hundred 

francs.     This  sum  I  paid  to  the  notary  of  G as 

part  of  the  price  of  the  house  on  the  hill :  the  agi*ee- 
ment  drawn  up  between  us  was,  that  one-half  of  the 
sum  remaining  due  should  be  paid  at  Midsummer, 
and  the  other  half  on  Saint  Martin's  Day.  In  case 
of  non-payment,  half  of  the  money  in  his  hands  was 
to  be  forfeited.  Though  many  kind  individuals  have 
assisted  me,  all  I  could  give  M.  Lacroix  at  Midsum- 
mer was  two  thousand  francs.  Of  the  three  thou 
sand  francs  which  I  am  to  pay  on  Saint  Martin's  Day, 
that  is  to  say,  in  about  six  weeks,  I  have  succeeded 
in  collecting  only  three  hundred.     I  therefore  still 


206  MADELEINE. 


want  two  thousand  seven  hundred  francs.  There  ia 
no  hope  of  mj'  being  able  to  collect  so  large  a  sum 
in  so  short  a  time,  and  this  is  why  I  am  here  this 
evening  to  apply  to  you.  I  do  not  ask,  however,  for 
a  gift,  for  you  have  given  me  much  already,  but  for 
a  loan.  It  trust  that,  with  the  help  of  God,  I  shall 
be  able  to  repay  you  if  you  will  only  grant  me  suffi- 
cient time." 

Madeleine's  address  was  heard  in  a  dead  silence : 
no  one  seemed  willing  to  answer  her  appeal.  Farm- 
er Mathurin  at  length  observed,  "  Madeleine,  we  do 
not  mean  to  hurt  your  feelings,  nor  do  we  intend  re- 
proaching you  for  the  money  we  gave  you,  since  it 
was  given  freely  ;  but  what  have  we  to  do  with  the 
hospital  of  Mont-Saint-Jean  ?  "When  we  gave  you 
the  three  thousand  francs  we  warned  you  that  we  did 
not  give  them  for  the  hospital,  but  to  you,  to  apply 
as  you  thought  fit ;  we  also  told  you  that,  let  what 
would  happen,  we  would  not  give  a  liard  more." 

"  I  do  not  ask  you  to*  give  me  the  money,"  said 
Madeleine,  "  but  to  lend  it  to  me." 

The  old  farmer  shook  his  head.  "  If  we  were  to 
lend  it  to  you,  when  could  you  repay  it  ?  'Not  for 
several  years,  perhaps.  K  we  had  much  ready  money, 
that  might  do  ;  but  our  wealth  is  all  in  our  land,  and 
we  would  sooner  give  a  small  sum  than  lend  a  large 
one," 

"Then,"  mournfully  observed  Madeleine,  "you 
will  neither  lend  nor  give  me  any  thing  for  the  hos- 
pital of  Mont-Saint-Jean  ?" 

The  silence  which  followed  this  question  was  a 
sufficient  reply. 

"  However,"  said  Madeleine,  after  a  pause,  "  you 


MADELEINE.  2(l7 


will  not  perhaps  refuse  to  give  me  advice  on  the 
course  of  conduct  I  should  adopt,  situated  as  I  am 
now  ?" 

One  individual  here  observed,  "  that  as  they  had 
not  been  consulted  about 'the  agreement  into  which 
Madeleine  had  entered  with  the  notary,  they  could 
give  her  no  advice  on  the  subject." 

Madeleine  looked  round  to  see  if  she  could  not 
meet  with  one  sympathizing  countenance,  but  every 
eye  was  averted  from  hers ;  some  of  those  present 
took  snuff,  others  coughed,  and  many  spoke  to  their 
nearest  neighbor,  as  thongh  indifferent  to  what  was 
going  on. 

"  God  help  me  !■'  exclaimed  Madeleine,  with  a 
sliG-ht  desfree  of  bitterness  in  her  tone  :  "  I  came  to 
you  for  assistance.  I  asked  you  not  to  give,  but  to 
lend  me,  the  money  I  wanted.  And  why  did  I  want 
that  money  ?  For  a  hospital ;  where,  for  all  you 
know,  your  own  children  may  one  day  find  a  home, 
rich  as  you  are  now.  But  you  will  neither  give  nor 
lend,  amd  when  I  ask  you  for  advice,  you  refuse  even 
that,  "Well  may  I  say,  God  help  me  and  the  poor 
sufferers  of  Mont-Saint- Jean !  for  man  will  do  noth- 
ing for  us." 

"  Of  what  do  you  complain,  Madeleine  ?"  here  said 
one  of  the  peasants.  "  Have  we  not  already  given 
you  money,  and  has  not  everybody  helped  yon  f 

"  I  complain,"  replied  Madeleine,  looking  at  him 
fixedly,  "  not  that  you  give  me  nothing,  but  that  you 
all  say,  both  in  your  hearts  and  aloud, — What  have 
we  to  do  with  the  hospital  of  Mont-Saint-Jean  ?" 

"  "Well,  and  what  have  we  to  do  with  it  ?"  asked 
the  peasant. 


208  MADELEINE. 

"  Wliat !"  indignantly  eclioed  Madeleine  ;  "  is  tlie 
fate  of  the  poor,  of  the  jDOor  of  your  own  village, 
nothing  to  you  ?  Think,"  she  added,  in  a  sorrowful 
tone,  "  of  all  they  have  to  endure, — a  life  of  toil  and 
misery,  wretched  and  starving  children,  and  after  the 
long,  wasting  disease,  a  lonely  death-bed ;  such  is 
their  fate  !  And  yet  you  say  that  you  have  nothing 
to  do  with  theii'  hospital !  Oh,  though  you  neither 
give  nor  lend,  say  not  at  least  that  your  hearts  are  so 
hardened  against  the  poor !" 

Madeleine  ceased  speaking,  and  looked  round  her. 
The  same  chilling  silence  prevailed  ;  no  one  answered 
her  appeal.  She  waited  for  a  few  minutes,  hoping 
that  some  one  might  speak ;  but  not  a  word  was  ut- 
tered. She  looked  once  more  at  the  cold  faces  near 
her,  and  her  last  hoj^e  vanished. 

"Be  it  so,"  she  sadly  said;  "I  sec  the  poor  ol 
Mont-Saint- Jean  have  nothing  to  hope  from  you. 
Their  trust  must  henceforth  be  in  God  alone." 

Madeleine  rose  and  turned  towards  the  door  as 
she  spoke  thus.  Though  she  would  have  wished  to 
say  something  more  before  leaving  the  mairie,  in  or- 
der that  those  present  might  not  imagine  she  parted 
from  them  with  a  feeling  of  ill-will,  her  heart  was 
too  full  and  sad  for  this,  and  she  left  the  office  with- 
out uttering  another  word.  When  she  reached  her 
house  she  foimd  Marie,  who  was  anxiously  waiting 
for  her  return,  on  the  threshold  of  the  door.  Made- 
leine shook  her  head  in  answer  to  the  inquiring  look 
of  her  friend. 

"  They  will  neither  give  nor  lend  me  the  money," 
she  sadly  said.  "  God  help  the  poor  of  Mont-Saint- 
Jcan!" 


MADELEINE.  20D 


She  sat  down  to  her  work  as  she  spoke,  and  evi- 
dently strove  in  vain  to  be  composed.  Marie  watch- 
ed her  from  a  remote  corner  of  the  room,  and,  as  she 
saw  her  pale  and  anxious  countenance  by  the  light 
of  the  lamp,  she  wondered  that  she  had  not  been 
struck  before  with  the  change  produced  in  her  friend's 
appearance  during  the  last  year.  The  toil  and  anxiety 
she  had  undergone  had  indeed  greatly  altered  Made- 
leine, and  made  her  look  thin  and  careworn ;  the 
sleepless  nights  during  which  she  had  sat  up  to  work 
had  rendered  her  eyes  sunken  and  dim,  and  changed 
the  clear,  healthy  color  of  her  cheek  into  a  pale,  sal- 
low hue.  The  expression  of  her  features  had,  how- 
ever, always  remained  calm  and  cheerful,  but  even 
that  was  altered  now.  Marie  could  see  that  her  cour- 
age sank  beneath  the  trials  she  had  to  undergo,  and 
she  sadly  watched  the  tears  that  slowly  trickled  down 
her  cheeks. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  dear  Madeleine  ?" 
said  she,  drawing  near  her. 

Madeleine  raised  up  her  head,  and  endeavored  to 
smile ;  but  she  failed  in  the  effort,  and  sadly  replied, 
"  My  heart  is  sad  and  troubled,  Marie." 

"And  why  is  it  so?"  asked  her  friend.  "Have 
you  not  done  every  thing  you  could  do  ?  Even  if  you 
fail,  no  blame  can  rest  upon  you." 

"  I  have  done  too  much,"  answered  Madeleme ; 
"I  have  been  too  confident.  Think  not  that  if  I 
grieve  now  it  is  merely  because  I  have  failed  in  ob- 
taining this  sum.  Ko,  Marie ;  it  is  because,  owing 
to  my  imprudence,  half  of  the  money  of  the  poor  will 
perhaps  be  forfeited  in  a  few  weeks.  Indeed  I  have 
been  much  to  blame." 


210  MADELEINE. 


Marie,  grieved  to  see  that  Madeleine  took  tliis  vie\V 
of  tlie  question,  vainly  strove  to  comfort  her. 

"  "What !"  she  at  length  exclaimed,  "  is  it  you, 
Madeleine — you  who  have  always  spoken  so  cheer- 
fully when  every  hope  seemed  gone — is  it  you  who 
are  now  going  to  despair  ?" 

"  1^0,  I  do  not  despair,"  said  Madeleine,  looking 
up ;  "  God  forbid  I  should  do  so !  for,  even  though 
half  the  money  should  be  lost,  yet  half  would  still 
remain.  But,  Marie,  if  I  did  not  feel  any  grief  on 
the  subject,  it  would  scarcely  be  human." 

"But  will  you  try  and  be  resigned?"  lu-ged  Marie. 

"  Yes,  indeed  I  will,"  earnestly  replied  Madeleine. 

"I  know,"  she  added,  with  one  of  those  smiles 
which  gave  so  striking  a  character  to  her  features,  by 
suddenly  changing  their  expression,  "  I  know  that  the 
cause  of  the  poor  will  triumph  one  day,  and  if  I  grieve 
it  is  because  that  day  is  now  on  the  eve  of  being  de- 
layed through  my  rashness." 

"  Hist !"  said  Marie,  "  was  not  that  a  knock  at  the 
door?" 

They  both  listened,  and  the  knock  was  repeated. 
Marie  went  to  oj)en  it ;  a  boy  of  about  ten  years  of 


age  came  m. 


"What  is  the  matter,  Henri,"  exclaimed  Made- 
leine, "  is  y^our  father  worse  ?"  for  she  knew  the 
child's  father,  who  was  ill. 

"]^o,  Madeleine,  thank  you,"  he  replied ;  "but  as 
I  was  passing  by  the  mairie  M.  Dubois,  who  was 
standing  at  the  door,  called  to  me,  and  bade  me  go 
directly  to  your  house,  to  tell  you  that  you  were 
wanted  immediately." 

"  Do  you  hear,  Madeleine  ?"   joyfully  exclaimed 


MADELEINE.  211 


Marie,  "  they  want  you.  "Well,  what  is  the  matter 
with  you  BOW?  I  declare  you  are  quite  pale  and 
trembling." 

•'  It  is  nothing,"  said  Madeleine ;  "  see,  it  is  alreadj* 
passed.     I  am  going  directly,  Henri." 

In  a  few  minutes  Madeleine  was  at  the  door  of  the 
mairie,  near  which  M.  Dubois  still  stood.  "  Come 
in,"  said  he,  hurriedly,  and  without  giving  her  any 
explanation. 

Madeleine  entered,  and  saw  with  some  surprise 
that  there  were  only  three  individuals  present  besides 
the  mayor  and  M.  Dubois  ;  the  rest  had  retired. 
After  requesting  her  to  be  seated,  and  giving  a  pre- 
liminary cough,  the  mayor  observed,  "In  order  to 
explain  to  you,  Madeleine,  why  we  have  asked  you 
to  come  back,  it  is  necessary  to  refer  to  the  statement 
you  made  a  while  ago.  You  then  said,  that  you 
should  pay  three  thousand  francs  to  the  notary  of 

C ,  on  the  eleventh  of  next  November,  and  that 

all  you  had  of  this  sum  was  three  hundred  francs  ; 
the  rest  you  asked  us  to  lend  to  you.    Am  I  correct?" 

"  You  are,"  replied  Madeleine. 

"  Well,  then,"  continued  the  mayor,  "  to  lend  you 
so  larjxe  a  sum  as  two  thousand  seven  hundred  francs 
is  out  of  our  power ;  but,  as  we  are  willing  to  help 
you  as  much  as  we  can,  and  feel  that  you,  who  labor 
for  the  general  good,  are  entitled  to  such  aid,  I,  and 
the  other  persons  whom  you  see  here,  five  in  all,  have 
ao-reed  to  lend  you  the  sum  of  a  thousand  francs ; 
you  will  thus  owe  us  two  hundred  francs  each.  But 
let  not  this  debt  make  you  feel  uneasy,  for  if  you  do 
not  pay  us  for  ten  years  to  come  we  shall  not  com- 
plain.    We  know  that  a  thousand  francs  is  not  even 


212  MADELEINE. 


half  the  sum  you  want ;  j^et  we  cannot  but  think  that 
the  notary,  seeing  how  anxious  you  are  to  satisfy  hini, 
and  knowing  to  what  purpose  you  wish  to  apply  the 
property,  will  give  you  sufficient  time  to  pay  him. 
l^everthelcss,  now  is  the  time  for  you  to  say  whether 
3'ou  will  accept  our  offer  or  not." 

"  I  do  accei3t  it,"  earnestly  said  Madeleine,  rising 
as  she  spoke  ;  "  and  I  verily  believe  that  God,  whose 
hand  is  so  visible  in  all  this,  will  not  allow  the  poor 
of  Mont-Saint-Jean  to  suffer  the  punishment  of  my 
rashness  and  imprudence." 

"  ISTay,  Madeleine,"  observed  the  mayor,  "  let 
what  will  happen,  we  all  know  that  you  have  acted 
for  the  best." 

With  this  the  meeting  broke  wp,  and  Madeleine, 
after  thanking  separately  the  five  individuals  who 
had  thus  unexpectedly  come  to  her  aid,  left  the 
mairie  with  a  light  heart ;  for,  though  she  had  not 
gained  her  point  in  every  respect,  she  now  no  longer 
felt  either  doubt  or  dismay. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Madeleine  had  now  one  thousand  and  three  hun- 
dred francs  in  her  possession  ;  but  she  still  wanted 
a  thousand  and  seven  hundred  more,  and  she  was  to 
procure  this  sum  in  less  than  six  weeks. 

"  How  will  you  get  it  ?"  frequently  asked  Marie 
Michon,  in  a  doubtful  tone  ;  and  Madeleine,  without 
answering  the  question,  would  fall  into  a  deep  fit  of 
musing,  which  often  lasted  for  hours. 


MADELEINE.  213 


Her  weekly  journeys  were  becoming  less  and  less 
productive,  though  they  had  never  been  attended 
with  so  many  hardships  as  now.  Madeleine  seldom 
walked  the  whole  of  the  way,  for  every  one  in  Mont- 
Saint-Jean  was  willing  to  assist  her  as  much  as  pos- 
sible ;  but  a  ride  of  a  few  leagues  could  not  relieve 
her  from  the  fatigue  of  a  long  journey,  nor  free  her 
from  exposure  to  the  broiling  sun  of  noon,  or  the 
chilling  breath  of  the  night  air.  Marie  saw  %vith 
deep  grief  that  the  health  of  her  friend  was  gradually 
sinking  under  the  excess  of  fatigue  she  had  to  en- 
dure ;  but  Madeleine's  only  thought  was  of  the 
means  she  should  adopt  in  order  to  meet  the  notary's 
demand. 

She  at  lengtli  resolved  on  making  what  was  to  her 
a  most  painful  sacrifice ;  this  was  to  sell  her  little 
cottage  near  the  churchyard.  She  had  often  thought 
of  doing  so  before,  but  had  always  delayed  carrying 
her  purpose  into  effect,  still  hoping  to  be  able  to 
keep  the  old  place  ;  for,  though  she  no  longer  dwelt 
in  it,  Madeleine's  heart  clung  to  the  home  of  her 
dreamy  youth  ;  that  home  wdiere,  in  the  surrounding 
solitude,  she  had  first  conceived  the  great  thought  of 
her  life.  But  she  now  felt  it  her  duty  to  listen  no 
longer  to  these  feelings,  and  she  inwardly  chid  herself 
for  having  put  off  the  sacrifice  so  long. 

AVhen  M.  Dubois  heard  of  her  intention,  he  imme- 
diately proposed  to  become  the  purchaser  of  her  little 
property ;  for,  as  he  knew  that  Madeleine  wanted 
the  raonev,  he  concluded  that  he  had  now  an  excel- 
lent  opportunity  of  making  a  good  bargain,  iu  tlie 
sense  usually  attacihed  to  that  word.  This  by  no 
means  prevented  the  ex-mayor  from  having  a  regard 


214  MADELEINE. 


for  Madeleine,  according  to  his  own  way,  since  he 
had  lent  her  two  hundred  francs  a  few  davs  before  ; 
but  the  temptation  of  securing  the  cottage  and  garden 
for  a  sum  below  their  real  value  was  perfectly  irre- 
sistible. He  therefore  offered  Madeleine  seven  hun- 
dred francs  for  her  property,  though  he  knew  very 
well  it  was  worth  much  more. 

"  Seven  hundred  francs  !"  sorrowfully  said  Made- 
leine ;  "  and  I  shall  still  want  a  thousand  !  Ah,  M. 
Dubois,  that  is  very  little  !" 

"I  cannot  help  it,  Madeleine,"  replied  the  ex- 
mayor.  "  You  know  how  hard  the  summer  has  been 
for  us  all ;  indeed,  since  I  have  ceased  to  be  mayor, 
matters  have  gone  on  from  bad  to  worse.  Farmer 
Mathurin  is  a  good,  honest  man,  to  be  sure ;  but  it 
requires  something  besides  honesty  to  manage  the 
affairs  of  a  commune  like  Mont-Saint-Jean.  There 
are  fools,  of  course,  ready  to  say  that  it  was  the  wea- 
ther made  all  the  difference  between  this  year  and 
the  last ;  but  I  ask  you,  Madeleine,  what  the  weather 
has  to  do  with  government  ?" 

"Perhaps  you  will  be  elected  next  year,  sir," 
soothingly  remarked  Madeleine. 

"  I^ay,"  replied  M.  Dubois,  "  I  am  not  ambitious  ; 
I  care  little  for  honors  or  dignities.  All  I  wish,"  he 
magnanimously  added,  "  is,  that  the  natives  of  Mont- 
Saint-Jean  may  not  suffer  the  consequences  which 
generally  attend  neglect  of  merit.  As  for  that  sneak- 
ing fellow,  Jean  Renaud !"  he  continued  in  a  wrath- 
ful tone — "  but  it  always  stirs  my  bile  to  think  of 
him,  so  we  will  just  talk  once  more  of  this  little  affair 
of  yours,  Madeleine.  I  cannot  afford  to  give  more 
than  seven  hundred  francs  ;    for  you  see  the  house 


MADELEINE,  215 


is   old,   and   will    have    to  be  pulled    down    next 

Spring." 

"  Must  it  indeed  be  pulled  down  ?"  asked  Made- 
leine, in  a  tremulous  tone. 

"  Oil !  yes  ;  besides,  tlie  garden  will  require  great 
alterations ;  the  apple-trees  in  it  are  only  fit  to  make 
firewood." 

"  Must  they  too  be  cut  down  ?"  said  Madeleine. 

"  Of  course  they  must ;  so  you  see  I  shall  have  a 
great  deal  to  spend  on  the  place  altogether.  To  tell 
you  the  truth,  I  buy  it  chiefly  to  oblige  you." 

Madeleine's  cheek  grew  pale  and  her  lips  quivered 
as  she  heard  of  the  proposed  changes  in  the  home  of 
her  youth  ;  but  she  knew  that  the  ex-mayor  was  per- 
haps the  only  individual  who  could  purchase  her  lit- 
tle property  at  the  present  time,  and,  striving  to 
think  of  nothing  save  the  poor  of  Mont-Saint-Jean, 
she  concluded  the  bargain,  M.  Dubois  agreeing  to 
give  a  her  hundred  francs  more. 

"  Indeed,"  as  he  again  observed,  "  he  was  actu- 
ated in  all  this  by  the  desire  of  serving  Madeleine, 
who,  if  not  assisted  by  her  friends,  had  little  chance 
of  success  under  the  present  weak  and  imbecile 
government  which  disgraced  Mont-Saint- Jean  ;  and, 
after  repeating  this  several  times,  he  ended  by  be- 
lieving in  it  himself,  and  took  great  pride  in  his  plii- 
lanthropy. 

It  was  not  without  an  inward  pang  that  Madeleine 
delivered  up  the  place,  which  had  so  long  been  her 
own,  to  its  new  proprietor.  Whilst  he  explained  to 
her  all  the  alterations  and  improvements  he  meant 
to  eflect,  she  gazed  with  eyes  which  her  tears  made 
dim  on  every  old  familiar  nook ;    and   when   bIio 


216  MADELEINE, 


turned  away  after  one  last  lingering  glance,  she  ex- 
claimed, in  a  low  and  broken  tone, 

"  I  liad  thonglit  to  die  here,  but  the  will  of  God  be 
done !" 

M.  Dubois,  who  was  not  verj  remarkable  for  pene- 
tration, saw  nothing  of  Madeleine's  emotion  ;  few 
persons,  indeed,  susj)ected  how  painful  the  sacrifice 
had  been,  and  Marie  Michon  alone  noticed  the  cloud 
of  sadness  which  lingered  for  several  days  over  the 
features  of  her  friend. 

I^otwithstanding  the  sum  which  the  sale  of  her 
house  had  brought  her  in,  Madeleine  still  wanted 
nine  hundred  francs  to  complete  the  two  thousand 
seven  hundred  she  had  to  pay.  As  she  was  totally 
unable  to  procure  this  sum,  she  called   upon  the 

notary  of  C a  week  before  Saint  Martin's  Day, 

and,  explaining  to  him  the  nature  of  her  position, 
asked  for  a  delay.  The  man  of  law  shook  his  head  : 
"  It  was  impossible  !  he  had  already  outstrij^ped  his 
instructions  once,  and  all  he  could  now  do  for  Made- 
leine, whose  case  certainly  interested  him,  would  be 
to  give  her  until  the  end  of  ISTovember  to  pay  the 
money."  Madeleine  replied  that,  as  she  had  no 
means  of  finding  nine  hundred  francs  in  a  few  weeks, 
this  delay  would  be  of  no  use  to  her. 

"  Then  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?"  asked  M.  Lacroix. 

Madeleine  remained  silent  for  a  few  minutes,  and 
at  length  observed :  "  K  you  will  give  me  the  ad- 
dress of  the  lady  from  whom  I  am  purchasing  the 
property,  I  will  write  to  her  myself,  telling  her  how 
matters  are ;  and  surely,  when  she  knows  that  the 
house  is  to  be  for  the  sick  and  the  poor,  she  will 
grant  me  sufficient  time  to  pay  her." 


MADELEINE.  217 


To  this  request,  which  somewhat  astonished  him, 
the  notary  gave  a  peremptory  refusal.  "  His  client," 
he  said,  "  had  expressly  desired  to  hear  nothing  more 
of  the  house,  which  had  already  been  the  source  of 
much  annoyance  to  her  ;  he  could  not  therefore  think 
of  complying  with  Madeleine's  Vish." 

"I  am  sorry  to  hear  you  say  so,  sir,"  calmly  said 
the  young  girl,  rising  from  her  seat,  "for  I  fear  I 
shall  have  some  trouble  in  finding  out  where  this 
lady  lives." 

"  So  you  still  tliink  of  wanting  to  her  !"  exclaimed 
M.  Lacroix,  with  evident  surprise. 

"  Undoubtedly  !"  answered  Madeleine,  who  seemed 
astonished  in  her  turn  that  he  should  have  thought 
her  capable  of  giving  up  her  plan. 

"How  will  you  do  this?"  he  asked,  after  a  brief 
pause. 

"  Oh !  it  will  be  more  tedious  that  difiicult,"  re- 
plied Madeleine,  smiling,  "  M.  Bignon  knows  where 
M.  Dupin's  son  resides ;  I  shall  write  to  him,  for,  as 
he  sold  the  house  to  the  lady,  he  must  know  where 
she  lives ;  I  trust  that  he  will  be  kind  enough  to 
answer  me." 

There  was  no  defiance  in  Madeleine's  tone,  and,  as 
the  notary  gazed  on  her  serene  and  ingenuous  coun- 
tenance, he  j^erceived  that  she  was  merely  bent  on 
attaining  a  certain  object  for  which  she  had  asked 
his  aid,  w^hich  he  refused  to  grant.  Seeing  this,  she 
resolved  to  adopt  another  method,  which  she  ex- 
plained to  him  with  a  candor  that  showed  she  did 
not  think  there  was  any  thing  in  her  pertinacity  by 
which  he  ought  to  feel  mortified  or  astonished.  He 
saw  that  her  plan  would  probably  prove  successful ; 

10 


218  MADELEINE, 


and,  reflecting  that  Lis  client  would  feel  more  an- 
noyed to  Lave  lier  place  of  residence  revealed  tc 
Madeleine  by  a  person  witL  wLom  slie  was  at  vari- 
ance tLan  by  Limself,  Le  ended  by  complying  witL 
tLe  young  girl's  request.  But  as  Le  Landed  her  tLe 
slip  of  paper  on  wLicL  he  had  written  down  the  lady's 
direction,  he  could  not  help  observing  to  Madeleine, 
"  You  are  a  strange  girl !" 

Madeleine  thanked  him  and  smiled,  but  as  she 
went  home  she  wondered,  in  the  simplicity  of  her 
heart,  why  it  was  that  every  one,  from  the  cure  to 
the  notary,  thought  her  so  very  strange. 

The  same  day  she  began  her  letter  to  the  lady  on 
whose  decision  so  much  now  depended.  It  was  fin- 
ished by  the  next  morning,  and  she  then  showed  it 
to  M.  Bignon,  who  declared  that,  with  the  exception 
of  a  few  grammatical  errors,  there  was  nothing  in  the 
whole  composition  which  he  could  alter,  and  that  it 
only  wanted  therefore  to  be  copied  out.  As  this  let- 
ter was  the  first  and  last  which  Madeleine  wrote 
during  the  whole  course  of  her  life,  we  will  now  lay 
it  before  the  reader. 

"  To  Madame  de  Meurice,  50,  Rue  de  Varennes, 
Faubourg  Saint-Germain,  Paris. 

"  Madame, — This  is  to  inform  you  that  I  am  Made- 
leine Guerin,  of  Mont-Saint-Jean,  who,  as  you  may 
know  already,  agreed  a  year  ago  to  buy  your  Louse 
on  the  hill  of  our  village  for  the  sum  of  nine  thousand 
five  hundred  francs,  of  which  I  then  paid  four  thou- 
sand fine  hundred  to  M.  Lacroix,  the  ITotary  of  C 

in  presence  of  M.  Dubois  and  M.  Bignon.  Accord- 
ing to  the  agreement  T  was  to  pay  two  thousand  five 


MADELEINE.  219 


hundred  francs  at  Midsummer,  and  as  much  more  on 
Saint  Martin's  Day,  which  is  still  to  come.  At  Mid 
summer  time,  however,  I  could  give  only  two  thou 
sand  francs  to  M.  Lacroix,  but  I  promised  that  the 
remaining  three  thousand  should  be  paid  this  month. 
As  I  am  still  nine  hundred  francs  short  of  the  sum, 
and  as  I  have  no  means  of  procuring  it,  I  now  apply 
to  you  for  further  delay  ;  and  I  trust,  Madame,  that 
when  you  know  for  whom  the  house  is  intended,  you 
will  be  so  good  as  to  grant  my  request. 

"  It  is  not  for  myself,  for  I  am  single  and  do  not 
mean  to  marry,  and  at  all  events  should  never  want 
so  large  a  house,  but  it  is  for  the  poor,  the  sick,  the 
old,  and  the  weary  of  Mont-Saint-Jean ;  and  indeed, 
Madame,  if  you  have  ever  been  in  our  village,  you 
must  know  that  we  are  poor — very  poor.  If  such, 
therefore,  were  the  will  of  God,  I  should  wish  it  to 
become  a  hospital — a  home  for  the  poor.  But,  alas ! 
how  can  I  do  this,  if  I  have  not  time  to  pay  you  what 
I  owe,  for  I  have  little  or  no  money  myself,  and  the 
six  thousand  live  himdred  francs  M-hich  I  paid  to  the 

notary  of  C had  been  almost  all  given  to  me  by 

charitable  persons,  I  know,  Madame,  that  I  have 
been  very  imprudent,  and  that  I  ought  not  to  have 
agreed  to  purchase  yom*  house  without  feeling  quite 
sure  of  being  able  to  pay  you  within  the  appointed 
time ;  but,  alas !  Madame,  you  do  not  know  liow  my 
heart  was  set  upon  that  house,  because  it  was  the  best 
and  cheapest  that  could  be  had  in  the  whole  village ; 
besides,  I  really  thought  I  should  be  able  to  pay 
the  nine  thousand  five  hundred  francs  within '  the 
year. 

"Although  I  now  ask  you  for  a  delay,  I  know, 


220  MADELEINE 


Madame,  that  you  have  the  right  of  refusing  me  this, 
and  that,  moreover,  you  are  entitled  to  keep,,  accord 
ing  to  the  terms  of  our  agreement,  half  of  the  six 
thousand  five  hundred  francs  now  in  the  hands  of 
M.  Lacroix.  But,  indeed,  I  do  not  think  you  will 
do  it,  for  is  it  not  the  money  of  the  poor  ?  and  what 
need  a  rich  lady  like  you  care  for  such  a  sum  ?  Yon 
must  be  kind  enough  to  forgive  me  if  I  speak  too 
plainly ;  but  I  am  only  an  ignorant  peasant  girl,  and 
all  I  know  is,  that  the  poor  of  Mont-Saint-Jean 
greatly  want  their  hospital.  Oh !  your  heart  would 
be  touched  with  pity  and  sorrow  if  you  only  saw 
half  their  misery !  Then  pray,  Madame,  since  they 
want  their  hospital  so  much,  be  kind  enough  not  to 
exact  the  nine  himdred  francs  on  Saint  Martin's 
Day,  but  to  give  me  till  the  spring,  when  I  trust  I 
shall  be  able  to  pay  you.  Indeed  I  believe,  Madame, 
that  though  you  are  a  great  lady,  you  will  take  pity 
on  the  poor,  for,  alas !  who  shall  pity  or  relieve  them 
if  the  rich  do  not  ?  And  if  you  do,  Madame,  grant 
this  request,  you  will  make  us  all  very  happy.  I 
am  sure  M.  Dubois,  the  ex-mayor,  will  make  a 
speech  about  it  to  the  whole  commune  ;  and  that  M. 
Bignon,  the  cure^  will  say  a  mass  for  your  welfare 
in  this  world  and  the  next.  As  for  myself  and 
Marie  Michon,  I  may  safely  say  that  we  shall  be 
almost  too  happy,  for  our  anxiety  on  this  subject  has 
indeed  been  very  great.  But  I  am  very  foolish  to 
speak  thus  to  you ;  for  surely,  if  you  grant  this  re- 
quest, it  will  not  be  for  all  the  speeches  M.  Dubois 
can  make,  nor  for  all  our  poor  villagers  can  say  to 
your  praise,  but  for  the  pure  and  holy  love  of  God 
and  of  his  children  the  poor. 


MADELEINE.  221 


"  I  have  the  honor,  Madame,  to  remain  yonr  hum- 
ble servant, 

"  ITadeleixe  Gui;KEsr. 

"Nov.  IS—." 

When  this  letter  had  been  posted  at  C ,  Made- 
leine's mind  was  at  first  much  relieved ;  but  as  the 
day  on  which  she  expected  an  answer  drew  near  her 
anxiety  naturally  returned.  The  day  passed,  how- 
ever, and  no  letter  came :  another  day  went  by,  and 
still  there  was  no  news.  Madeleine  began  to  fear 
that  the  lady  had  not  received  her  letter,  or,  as  this 
seemed  scarcely  likely,  that  she  did  not  mean  to  re- 
turn a  favorable  reply.      Her  anxiety  became  so 

strong  at  the  end  of  a  week  that  she  went  to  C , 

in  order  to  learn  from  the  notary  whether  he  had  re- 
ceived any  instructions  on  the  subject ;  but  M.  La- 
croix  had  not  heard  from  his  client ;  and  Madeleine 
returned  to  the  village  with  the  same  load  of  doubt 
and  anxiety  on  her  mind. 

Two  days  after  this,  as  she  was  sitting  down  to 
sujDper  with  all  her  family,  a  peasant  came  in  and 
handed  her  a  letter,  which  M.  Lacroix  had  received 
for  her  the  same  mornino;,  Madeleine  took  the  letter 
with  a  trembling  hand,  for  she  divined  that  it  con- 
tained the  tidings  which  were  to  decide  M'hether 
Mont-Saint-Jean  was  to  have  a  hospital  or  not. 
Her  feelings  seemed  shared  by  every  one  present. 
Marie  was  pale  and  agitated,  and  the  old  people  all 
paused  in  tlicir  meal  in  order  to  gaze  upon  Made- 
leine, who  otill  held  the  letter  unopened,  as  though 
Fhe  feared  to  become  acquainted  with  its  contents. 

"  I  cannot  read  it  yet,"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  broken 


222  MADELEINE. 


tone ;  "  I  must  pray  for  strength  to  bear  the  worst :  1 
cannot  read  it  yet !"  and  laying  down  the  letter  on 
the  table,  she  clasped  her  hands  fervently,  and  gazed 
on  the  small  wooden  crucifix  suspended  from  the  wall 
before  her,  whilst  her  lips  moved  in  silent  though 
heart-felt  prayer. 

Madeleine's  orisons  were  soon  over;  she  took  up 
the  letter  once  more,  and,  though  Marie  thought  that 
she  grew  slightly  pale,  she  broke  the  seal  open  with- 
out seeming  hesitation.  Every  eye  was  now  eagerly 
fixed  on  Madeleine,  to  read  on  her  features  the  de- 
cision of  the  Parisian  lady.  She  did  not  keep  them 
long  in  suspense.  Her  countenance  was  at  first  sad 
and  troubled ;  but  the  smile  which  soon  broke  ujoon 
it  told  of  such  deep  and  holy  rapture,  that,  though 
her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  which  she  shook  away  to 
read  on,  there  was  not  one  present  but  knew  that  the 
request  was  granted.  Madeleine,  indeed,  did  not 
wait  to  read  to  the  end  in  order  to  tell  them  so. 

"  Children,"  said  she,  with  her  usual  simplicity, 
"  rejoice,  and  thank  God  for  his  goodness,  for  the  rich 
lady,  although  I  only  asked  her  till  sj^ring,  gives  me 
until  the  summer  to  pay  her  the  money." 

These  good  tidings  were  received  with  great  joy  by 
every  one,  and  the  feeling  was  increased  when  Made- 
leine, having  come  to  the  end  of  her  letter,  informed 
them  that  the  kind  Parisian  lady  had  remitted  a 
hundred  francs  of  the  nine  hundred  still  owing  to  her. 
The  news  soon  spread  over  the  village,  and  caused  a 
great  sensation.  Every  one  was  pleased  that  Made- 
leine should  have  succeeded  in  her  object,  though 
most  people  agreed  with  Marie  Michon,  "  that  it  was 
not  very  astonishing  after  all;  for  what  was  there 


MADELEINE.  223 


that  Madeleine  undertook  which  she  did  not  succeed 
in  acconiphehing  ?" 

Madeleine  herself,  though  she  attributed  the  merit 
solely  to  the  holiness  of  her  cause,  could  not  help 
remarking,  as  she  communicated  her  good  fortune 
to  the  cure^  "  Indeed,  sir,  the  hand  of  God  is  in  all 
this !" 


CHAPTER  XX. 

A  HEAVY  load  of  anxiety  was  now  removed  from 
Madeleine's  mind ;  the  doubt  had  passed  away  from 
her  spirit,  and,  though  she  did  not  relax  in  her  labors, 
they  were  carried  on  more  cheerfully  now  that  she 
saw  the  great  end  which  they  were  destined  to  serve 
might  perhaps  be  attained.  Madeleine  at  first  thought 
of  writing  to  thank  Madame  de  Meurice,  but,  before 
she  had  done  so,  she  met  the  lady  at  the  house  of  the 

notary  of  C ,  and  was  thus  enabled  to  tender  her 

aclmowledgments  in  person. 

Madame  de  Meurice  gazed  with  mingled  interest 
and  curiosity  on  the  slender  figure  and  thoughtful 
countenance  of  the  simple  peasant  girl.  She  cjues- 
tioned  her,  and  was  surprised  at  the  propriety  of  her 
answers.  When  she  expressed  to  her  the  warm  ad- 
miration which  she  felt  for  her  noble  and  disinterest- 
ed conduct,  Madeleine  heard  her  with  quiet  surprise, 
and  calmly  replied : 

"  You  know,  madamc,  that  God  sends  us  all  on 
earth  to  do  something  for  the  good  of  our  fellow- 
creatures  ;  and  I  have  heard  M.  Bignon,  the  ciiH^ 


224  MADELEINE. 


say,  that  the  woman  who  marries  and  rears  np  hei 
children  in  the  love  of  God  does  more  good  than 
any  other  creature.  But  I  was  to  be  neither  wife 
nor  mother ;  then  what  could  I  do  less  than  to  try 
and  have  a  hospital  for  Mont-Saint-Jean,  which  has 


needed  one  so  long  ?" 

Madame  de  Meurice  looked  at  the  earnest  speaker 
with  increased  astonishment :  but,  though  this  utili- 
tarian doctrine  was  novel  to  the  rich  and  noble  lady, 
and  even  grated  harshly  on  her  ear,  she  renewed  the 
assurances  she  had  already  made  to  Madeleine,  that 
she  need  be  in  no  hurry  to  pay  her  the  eight  hundred 
francs  still  due,  and  that  she  even  requested  her  to 
apply  to  her  for  assistance  in  any  of  her  difficulties 
Madeleine  thanked  her  warmly  for  her  kindness, 
and,  as  she  had  now  deposited  in  the  hands  of  the 
notary  the  two  thousand  and  one  hundred  francs  in 
her  possession,  she  departed ;  but  as  she  was  leaving 
the  notary's  study,  she  could  hear  Madame  de  Meu- 
rice exclaim, 

"  This  is  the  most  singular  girl  I  ever  met  with !" 

l^otwithstanding  Madame  de  Meurice's  assurances 
that  she  could  take  her  own  time  to  pay  her,  Made- 
leine worked  so  assiduously  during  the  winter  that 
her  debt  was  nearly  discharged  by  the  following 
spring.  "When  Marie  urged  her  to  take  some  rest, 
Madeleine  replied  that,  as  long  as  her  task  remained 
unfinished,  she  could  not  enjoy  rej^ose.  "  Besides," 
she  added,  in  a  thoughtful  tone,  "there  will  still  bo 
much  to  do  when  Madame  de  Meurice  is  paid,  and 
life  is  short." 

"But  you  are  young,  Madeleine,"  uneasily  re- 
marked Marie,  "  very  young  still." 


MADELEINE.  225 


Madeleine  smiled  and  made  no  reply.  But,  though 
Marie  dropped  the  subject,  the  words  of  Madeleine 
dwelt  in  her  mind,  and  involuntarily  recurred  to  her 
whenever  she  gazed  on  the  slight  and  fragile  form  of 
her  friend. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  month  of  May,  Madeleine 
paid  the  last  sum  owing  to  Madame  de  Meurice,  for 
she  had  regularly  placed  whatever  money  she  col- 
lected in  the  hands  of  the  notary.  The  day  on  which 
she  discharo-ed  her  debt  was  a  solemn  one  for  Made- 
leine.  As  she  returned  to  Mont-Saint-Jean  with  her 
heart  full  of  a  deep  and  holy  joy,  she  felt  that  the  end 
of  her  being  was  almost  fulfilled,  and,  though  the 
thouo-ht  was  not  unmixed  with  sadness,  she  welcomed 
it  as  the  weary  traveller  welcomes  the  goal  of  a  long 
and  trying  jom*ney. 

"  Yes,  I  am,  indeed,  happy,"  she  said,  in  reply  to 
a  question  of  Marie  ;  "  the  task  for  which  I  have  been 
toiling  three  years  is  drawing  to  its  close ;  the  poor 
of  Mont-Saint- Jean  will  soon  have  their  home.  May 
the  holy  name  of  God  be  praised !" 

"  Then,  since  you  have  done  so  much,  may  you  not 
take  some  rest  now,  dear  Madeleine  ?" 

"  Eepose  !  Nay,  God  forbid,  Marie,  that  I  should 
pause  in  my  task.  Oh!  there  is  still  much,  very 
much  to  do,"  she  added,  in  a  thoughtful  tone. 

Madeleine  entered  into  possession  of  her  new  prop- 
erty, or,  as  she  called  it,  of  the  hospital,  on  the  same 
day.  With  the  forethought  and  prudence  which 
characterized  her,  she  had  obtained  from  Madame  de 
Meurice  during  the  winter  the  permission  of  culti- 
vating the  land,  which  already  gave  promise  of  a 
rich  and  abundant  harvest.     Though  this  arrange- 

10- 


226  MADELEINE. 

ment  had  been  both  expensive  and  inconvenient  at 
the  time,  the  wisdom  which  had  dictated  it  was  al- 
ready apparent.  The  honse  on  the  hill  was  not,  how- 
ever, yet  in  a  state  to  be  inhabited;  the  inside  was 
still  in  an  nnfinished  condition,  and  the  roofing  had 
iTot  so  much  damao-ed  durinor  the  winter  as  to  stand 
in  need  of  great  repairs.  Madeleine  was  preparing 
to  beffin  her  new  task,  with  her  nsual  activitv,  when 
Doctor  Detrimont  interfered,  and  declared  that  she 
stood  in  absolute  want  of  repose ;  he  assured  her  that 
her  health  had  for  some  time  been  in  a  declining 
state,  and  that  it  M'as  absolutely  necessary  he  should 
examine  into  her  case,  and  prescribe  for  her. 

Madeleine  submitted,  and  accordingly  remained 
alone  with  him  for  about  half  an  hour.  AVhen  he 
left  her  room  the  doctor  was  eagerly  accosted  by 
Marie  Michon,  who  anxiously  asked  him  what  was 
the  matter  with  Madeleine. 

"  Take  care  of  her,  and  do  not  let  her  fatigue  her- 
self," was  his  only  rej)ly.  As  he  came  out  of  the 
house  several  persons  who  knew  the  object  of  his 
errand,  and  were  waiting  for  him  outside,  imme- 
diately gathered  round  him,  and  made  the  same  in- 
quir^^,  but  M.  Detrimont  rei^lied  to,  and  perhaps 
evaded,  their  questioning  by  a  display  of  his  usual 
hrusquerie^  and  rode  off  hastily  without  having  given 
a  direct  answer.  But  every  one  thought  that,  notwith- 
standing his  roughness,  there  was  a  sad  and  troubled 
exj^ression  on  the  doctor's  features. 

"  Ay,  ay,  depend  upon  it  there  is  something  the 
matter  with  Madeleine,"  was  the  general  remark. 

But  Madeleine's  replies  soon  dispelled  the  appre- 
hensions which  had  been  conceived ;  for,  when  ques- 


MADELEINE.  227 


tioned  on  the  subject,  she  declared  "  that,  save  here," 
and  she  laid  her  hand  upon  her  heart,  she  felt  no 
pain,  and  that,  though  occasionally  exhausted,  the 
thought  of  the  hospital  soon  gave  her  new  strength. 
"  Rest  only  wearies  me,"  she  added,  even  whilst  sub- 
mitting to  Doctor  Detrimont's  injunctions. 

In  compliance  with  his  orders,  Madeleine  now  ab- 
stained from  any  active  exertions,  and  gave  up  her 
Sunday  journeys;  but,  as  the  doctor  had  recom- 
mended gentle  exercise,  she  took  daily  walks,  accom- 
panied by  Lise,  who  was  now  eight  yeai-s  old,  and 
seldom  left  her  adopted  mother.  Though  the  hos- 
pital was  the  place  they  usually  visited,  they  wan- 
dered down  one  evening  to  the  little  lake  described 
in  our  first  chapter.  Here  Madeleine,  who  felt  wea- 
ried, sat  down  on  the  same  spot  where  four  years 
before  she  had  told  Maurice  that  they  should  part. 
She  remembered  well  every  detail  of  what  had  passed 
between  them  that  evening,  but,  though  the  remem- 
brance might  render  her  thoughtful,  it  could  not  fill 
her  heart  with  sadness  or  repining.  She  knew  that 
he  was  happy,  and  in  her  own  lot  she  saw  nothing  to 
cause  regret ;  far  from  it,  she  felt  that  to  be  the  in- 
strument of  the  holy  task  she  had  almost  accom- 
plished ought  tc  be  in  itself  a  source  of  deep  and 
holy  joy,  even  though,  like  so  many  other  laborei-s  in 
the  good  cause,  she  should  be  called  away  when  that 
holy  task  was  done. 

So  absorbed  was  Madeleine  in  these  thoughts  that 
as  she  rose,  and  abstractedly  followed  Lise,  she  did 
not  notice  that  the  child  was  taking  the  path  whicli 
led  to  the  churchyard  and  to  her  former  dwellmg, 
until  they  had  almost  reached  the  end  of  it ;  she  tlien 


228  MADELEINE, 


looked  lip  and  suddenly  stoj^ped  short,  with  evident 
emotion. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Madeleine  ?"  asked  Lise, 
lookino;  at  her  friend  with  a  w^onderinir  a'lance. 

Madeleine  made  no  reply  ;  she  was  thinking  of  the 
house — now  no  longer  her  own — where  she  had  spent 
so  many  happy  years.  Was  it  still  standing  ?  She 
knew  not,  for  she  had  never  questioned  M,  Dubois  on 
the  subject.  It  had  probably  been  rebuilt,  or,  as  the 
new  owner  styled  it,  improved.  Madeleine's  heart 
sank  within  her,  but  she  felt  this  was  an  unworthy 
weakness,  which  should  be  overcome  ;  she  therefore 
calmly  said  to  Lise,  "  Let  us  go  on." 

A  few  steps  brought  them  to  tlie  end  of  the  path, 
and,  by  turning  the  churchyard  wall,  they  stood 
within  sight  of  the  house.  Madeleine's  heart  beat 
with  involuntary  joy  :  it  was  still  standing,  and  un- 
changed. A  woman  was  hushing  her  child  to  sleep 
on  the  door-step,  where  Madeleine  had  so  often  sat  at 
her  wheel ;  the  w^ind  sighed  among  the  pines  of  the 
narrow  churchyard,  and  the  mountain  torrent  leapt 
down  from  the  rocks :  every  thing  looked  as  of  yore. 
Madeleine  approached  the  w' oman,  and,  after  exchang- 
ing with  her  the  customary  greeting  of  the  country, 
expressed  her  surprise  that  the  house  should  still  be 
in  the  same  state. 

"  Why  you  see,"  replied  the  woman,  "  M.  Dubois 
thought  it  would  scarcely  be  worth  his  while  to  have 
it  rebuilt;  the  house  is  well  enough  as  it  is." 

"  Then  you  like  to  live  here  ?"  said  Madeleine,  in 
a  tremulous  tone. 

"  'Nay,  I  cannot  say  I  do  ;  it  is  too  lonely." 

Madeleine  made  no  reply ;  but  bidding  the  Avomao 


MADELEINE.  22G 


farewell,  she  gave  another  look  over  every  familiar 
spot,  and  turned  away  with  Lise. 

"  AYouldst  thou  like  to  live  there  ?"  she  asked  of 
the  child,  after  they  had  been  walking  for  some  time. 
"]^o,  Madeleine,  I  should  not,  it  looks  such  a 
silent,  solitary  place." 

"  How  strange,"  thoughtfully  observed  Madeleine, 
"  every  one  finds  it  so,  and  yet  to  me  Mont-Saint-Jean 
seems  far  more  lonel}'." 

"How  is  that,  Madeleine?  there  are  people  in 
Mont-Saint-Jean  ;  but  no  one  lives  here  save  those 
who  dwell  in  the  cottage." 

"  Ay,  child ;  but  to  be  alone  with  God  and  oui 
own  thoughts  is  not  solitude." 

But  little  Lise  neither  heeded  nor  understood  the 
purport  of  this  reply,  and  Madeleine  returned  to 
Mont-Saint-Jean  without  renewing  the  subject. 

Although  she  scrupulously  obeyed  the  doctor's  in- 
junctions, Madeleine  did  not  seem  to  grow  better;  on 
the  contrary,  after  a  month  of  inactivity,  she  looked 
so  pale  and  feeble  that  M.  Detrimont,  in  order  to  try 
the  eifect  of  change,  set  her  at  liberty  to  act  as  she 
pleased ;  she  accordingly  resumed  her  usual  occupa- 
tions, and  a  decided  improvement  in  her  health  and 
appearance  was  the  consequence  of  this  step.  Mario 
Michon,  seeing  how  well  she  looked,  asked  the  doctor 
if  he  did  not  think  Madeleine  cured,  but  he  shook  his 
head  m  token  of  doubt  or  dissent.  Although  he  saw 
that,  as  long  as  her  mind  was  bent  on  her  great  aim 
it  would  be  useless  to  recommend  repose,  since,  as  she 
truly  said,  it  only  wearied  her,  M.  Detriment  insisted 
that  the  weekly  iourneys  should  be  entirely  given  up. 
Madeleine  submitted  to  this  injunction,  which  the 


230  MADELEINE, 


ewe  supported  with  all  his  authority,  by  assuring  hef 
that  M.  Morel  would  have  greatly  disapproved  of  her 
undergoing  such  excessive  fatigue. 

It  was  not  until  after  the  harvest  that  Madeleine 
bad  any  funds  at  her  disposal ;  she  was  then  mistress 
of  five  hundred  francs,  part  of  which  proceeded  from 
her  own  earnings  during  the  summer.  She  imme- 
diately went  to  C ,  and  there  secured  the  services 

of  a  contractor,  who  engaged  to  finish  the  house  on 
the  hill,  as  well  as  to  make  all  the  necessary  altera- 
tions. When  he  spoke  of  terms,  Madeleine  j)]aced 
her  five  hundred  francs  in  his  hands,  and  told  him  to 
pay  himself  and  his  men  out  of  this  sum  as  long  as  it 
would  last,  and  bade  him  apply  to  her  for  more  money 
when  it  was  exhausted.  I  will  not  ask  you,"  she 
added,  "  to  deal  justly  by  me,  for  it  is  not  for  me  you 
are  working,  but  for  the  poor." 

"When  the  nature  of  this  agreement  was  known  in 
Mont-Saint-Jean,  almost  every  one  declared  that  Mad- 
eleine had  acted  with  great  imprudence,  and  would 
certainly  be  deceived  by  the  contractor.  But  Made- 
leine, who  had  faith  not  merely  in  Providence,  but 
also  in  human  nature,  could  not  be  made  to  believe 
this.  "  Surely,"  she  observed,  "  no  man  would  com- 
mit such  a  sin  as  to  rob  the  poor!" 

The  event  showed  that  her  confidence  had  not  been 
misplaced,  for,  though  the  contractor  did  not  bear  the 
reputation  of  being  very  scrupulous  in  ordinary  mat- 
ters, he  made  it  in  this  case  a  point  of  honor  to  charge 
DO  more  than  what  was  justly  due  to  him,  to  the  great 
astonishment  of  the  village  prophets.  It  w^as  not 
long,  however,  before  he  declared  to  Madeleine  that 
the  five  hundred  francs  were  spent ;  she  gave  him  a 


MADELEINE.  231 


little  sum  which  she  had  saved  up  in  the  mean  while, 
but  that  only  lasted  a  few  days,  and  the  house  was 
still  unfinished.  One  morning,  when  she  went  as 
usual  to  see  how  the  work  progressed,  the  contractor 
took  her  aside,  and  reminded  her  that  he  had  no  more 
money. 

"  Alas  !"  sadly  replied  Madeleine,  "  it  grieves  me 
to  hear  you  say  so.  Master  Jerome,  for  I  have  none 
to  give  you." 

Jerome  expressed  his  concern,  "  but  what  could  he 
do  ?  he  was  not  rich,  and,  happen  what  would,  his 
men  would  be  paid." 

"  I  suppose  I  must  give  the  order  to  stop  the 
works,"  sorrowfully  said  Madeleine ;  "  and,  as  winter 
is  coming  on,  the  hospital  must  wait  until  next  year 
to  be  finished." 

But  when  she  had  once  more  gone  over  the  whole 
place,  and  when  she  saw  how  little,  comparatively 
speaking,  there  was  to  do  to  it,  she  could  not  resign 
herself  to  the  delay  which  seemed  inevitable.  The 
workmen  were  then  engaged  in  taking  their  lunch  ; 
Madeleine  suddenly  resolved  to  appeal  to  them  for 
aid,  and,  stepping  Avithin  the  circle  which  they  formed, 
she  addressed  them  thus  : 

"  Children,  I  want  to  speak  to  you."  Seeing  that 
these  words  had  created  a  general  silence,  she  con- 
tinued: "You  have  now  been  several  months  engaged 
in  finishing  this,  the  hospital  of  Mont-Saint-Jean  ; 
you  have  been  paid  for  your  labor ;  yet  it  was  holy 
work,  since  whatever  is  done  for  the  poor  is  also  done 
for  God.  Now,  I  recollect  hearing  M.  Bignon  say, 
that  many  hundred  years  ago,  when  there  were  not 
so  many  churches  in  the  land  as  there  are  now,  it 


232  MADELEINE. 


was  a  common  thing,  whenever  a  large  cathedral  was 
built,  for  the  masons  and  other  working-men  to  give 
some  of  their  time  for  the  love  of  God.  I  grieve  to 
say  that,  though  I  have  been  able  to  pay  you  until 
now,  my  money  is  all  spent,  and  that,  unless  you 
help  me,  the  hospital  must  remain  unfinished  until 
next  year.  I  know  that  you  are  poor  men,  and  that 
you  have  to  provide  the  bread  of  your  children  from 
your  earnings,  yet  take  it  not  ill  that  I  ask  you  to  do 
something  for  those  who  have  neither  strength  nor 
health  to  work — the  sick  and  the  aged." 

Madeleine  concluded  her  little  sj)eech  in  a  low  and 
tremulous  tone,  which  rendered  it  more  impressive. 
The  workmen  looked  at  one  another,  then  consulted 
in  whispers ;  one  of  them,  acting  as  speaker,  at  length 
observed : 

"  Mademoiselle  Madeleine,"  for  they  all  gave  her 
this  mark  of  respect,  contrary  to  the  simple  cus- 
toms of  the  country,  "  we  are  indeed  but  poor  work- 
ing-men, yet  such  as  we  are  we  wish  to  help  you, 
and,  though  we  may  do  little,  it  shall  be  done  with  a 
cheerful  heart,  for,  if  men  formerly  labored  for  no- 
thing to  build  the  house  of  God,  we  can  at  least  help 
to  finish  the  house  of  the  poor.  This,  therefore,  we 
can  promise  you,  namely,  that  every  man  amongst 
us  will  give  you  one  day's  work  for  nothing,  and 
credit  for  another." 

"May  heaven  reward  you  all !"  fervently  exclaimed 
Madeleine,  "  and  may  the  blessings  of  tlie  jioor  rest 
on  you  till  your  dying  day." 

"  I^ay,  but  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  this 
working  for  nothing  and  giving  credit,"  surlily  ob- 
served one  of  the  men,  whom  Madeleine's  eye  irame- 


MADELEINE.  233 


diately  singled  out  from  the  rest  as  a  disagreeable 
and  discontented  man,  disliked  by  his  companions, 
who  called  him  "gloomy  Pierre." 

"  You  are  free,"  she  gently  said ;  "  but  though  you 
will  not,  or  perhaps  cannot,  work  for  nothing,  like 
your  comrades,  yet  I  trust  that  you  will  stay  and  re- 
ceive your  wages  as  usual." 

Pierre  eyed  Madeleine  fixedly,  then  turned  away 
his  look,  and  muttered  something  about  having  seven 
starving  children  at  home,  and  every  one  looking  to 
himself  and  to  his  own. 

Master  Jerome  had  witnessed  with  great  astonish- 
ment the  effect  which  Madeleine  had  produced  upon 
his  men,  of  whose  disinterestedness  he  had  no  very 
exalted  opinion.  But  there  are  nobler  springs  of 
action  in  the  human  heart  than  many  wot  of,  and  of 
which  men  like  the  contractor  live  and  die  in  igno- 
rance. 

After  once  more  expressing  her  thanks  to  the  kind- 
hearted  workmen,  Madeleine  turned  away  to  dej^art. 
In  a  retired  spot,  seated  on  the  fallen  trunk  of  a  tree, 
at  a  distance  from  his  comrades,  whose  indignant 
glances  had  testified  their  contempt  of  his  selfish 
spirit,  she  j^erceived  gloomy  Pierre  finishing  his  meal. 
A  lean  and  half-starved  looking  dog,  attracted  by  the 
smell  of  food,  loitered  near  him.  The  man  kicked 
him  brutally,  and  the  cur  fled  yelping  away.  An  in- 
dignant exclamation  rose  to  the  lips  of  Madeleine, 
who  had  a  tender  and  compassionate  feeling  for 
every  living  creature ;  but  she  knew  that  an  angry 
reproof,  uttered  for  the  gratification  of  personal  feel- 
ings, seldom  has  the  improvement  of  the  offender  foi 
its  object,  and  she  gently  said, 


234  MADELEINE, 


"Why  did  you  hurt  the  poor  dog?" 

The  man  turned  round  and  eyed  her  askance: 
"  "Why  did  he  want  my  food  ?" 

"  Perhaps  he  was  hungry." 

"  Then  let  him  work  like  a  Christian,  since  Chris- 
tians now  tare  like  dogs,"  was  the  bitter  reply. 

"  To  work  for  our  daily  bread  is  God's  own  law," 
gravely  observed  Madeleine ;  "  all  must  work." 

"Ay,  but  all  do  not  work,"  sarcastically  said  Pierre, 
"  look  at  the  rich  !"  and  he  laughed  a  bitter  laugh, 
which  reminded  Madeleine  of  the  dying  widow  of 
the  eastern  hill.  "  You  hate  the  rich  ;  do  you  not  ?" 
he  continued,  after  a  brief  pause. 

"  Hate  them !  God  forbid !" 

"  I  do  not  believe  you ;  I  hate  them,  and  so  do  all 
the  poor,  in  their  hearts." 

"  God  is  all  love,"  earnestly  said  Madeleine,  "  it  is 
therefore  a  deadly  sin  to  hate." 

"  I  love  nothing,"  harshly  rejjlied  Pierre. 

"  What,  not  even  your  own  children  ?" 

"  ]S"o,  why  should  I  love  them  ?  I  kill  myself 
with  work  to  give  them  bread,  and  yet  they  always 
seem  to  be  starving.  There  are  two  or  three  of  them 
now  lying  ill  with  the  measles ;  my  wife  says  it  will 
be  a  blessing  if  they  go  to  heaven ;  if  she  says  so, 
who  loves  them,  I  may  say  so  too,  since  I  do  not." 
And  Pierre  whistled  a  tune  with  reckless  gayety. 
Madeleine  shrank  from  him  with  horror,  but  a  look 
at  the  convulsive  workings  of  his  face  showed  her 
that  this  was  only  a  mask  put  on  to  hide,  and  perhaps 
to  check,  deeper  feelings,  and  she  drew  near  again. 
Nor  was  the  wish  he  had  expressed  new  to  her,  for 
often,  with  a  sickening  heart,  she  had  heard  parents 


MADELEINK.  235 


hail  as  a  blessing  the  death  of  some  innocent  and 
even  beloved  child  ;  not  from  the  devout  hope  that 
it  had  been  removed  from  a  world  of  sin  and  snfFer- 
ing  to  everlasting  bliss,  but  because  its  removal 
would  lessen  the  heavy  burden  of  supporting  their 
surviving  oifspring. 

"  Alas !"  she  sorrowfully  exclaimed,  gazing  on 
Pierre's  features,  where  reckless  mirth  and  harrow- 
ing anxiety  were  strangely  blended,  "  may  God  help 
the  poor,  for  sad  indeed  is  their  lot  upon  earth  !" 

Pierre  raised  his  eyes ;  he  saw  Madeleine  standing 
by  his  side,  and  looking  down  upon  him  with  that 
glance  of  gentle  and  infinite  pity  which  Catholic 
painters  delight  in  giving  to  the  Virgin  Mother  of 
God,  and,  though  the  simple  peasant  girl  had  none 
of  the  unearthly  beauty  of  a  Madonna,  a  vague  sense 
ef  the  likeness  perhaps  came  to  his  soul,  and  im- 
pressed him  with  the  reverence  due  to  holy  things, 
or  he  might  have  been  moved  by  the  boundless  com- 
passion of  that  mild  look ;  whatever  was  the  cause, 
he  rose  and  hurriedly  turned  away,  but  Madeleine 
could  see  that  his  heart  was  softened  within  him. 

The  workmen,  who  all  felt  anxious  to  impress 
Madeleine  with  the  sincerity  of  their  wish  to  serve 
her,  used  such  extraordinary  diligence  in  their  task 
that  it  was  completely  finished  at  the  end  of  four  days. 
On  the  evening  of  the  last  day  Madeleine  paid  them 
for  two  days  of  tlieir  labor,  one  day  remaining  due, 
according  to  the  agreement  Pierre  alone  received 
his  full  salary.  As  they  were  all  to  go  off  at  an  early 
hour  the  next  morning,  Madeleine  bade  them  farewell 
whilst  acquitting  her  debt,  and  renewing,  as  she  did 
60,  her  thanks  for  the  aid  they  had  afforded  her: 


236  MADELEINE. 


"  "Without  yon,"  she  added,  pointing  to  the  hospital. 
now  completely  finished,  "this  home  for  the  poor 
must  have  remained  useless  for  many  months ;  but 
now  it  is  ready  for  them,  and  the  blessing  of  God  will 
surely  be  with  you  for  this." 

"Mademoiselle  Madeleine,"  observed  one  of  the 
men,  "  we  all  know  that  you  are  a  good  and  noble 
being,  and  shall  always  be  proud  to  think  that  we 
assisted  you,  though  it  was  very  little,  in  finishing 
the  hospital  of  Mont-Saint-Jean.  May  you  live  in  it 
many  years." 

"  I  thank  you  one  and  all  for  the  wish,"  replied 
Madeleine,  with  a  smile  which  though  sweet  was  not 
without  a  tinge  of  sadness. 

She  bade  them  once  more  farewell,  and  left  the 
spot ;  she  had  not  gone  far  before  she  perceived 
gloomy  Pierre  sitting  in  the  same  place  and  attitude 
in  wliicli  she  had  found  him  a  few  days  before.  Not- 
withstanding all  her  eftbrts  since  then  to  induce  him 
to  cast  off  his  misanthropy,  he  had  preserved  his 
churlishness  of  manner.  This  did  not  prevent  Made- 
leine from  approaching  him  now,  and  asking  him  it 
he  had  heard  from  his  children. 

"  The  youngest  is  dead,"  he  answered,  in  a  husky 
tone,  and  he  turned  his  head  away. 

Madeleine  sat  down  near  him,  and;  without  en- 
deavoring to  administer  j^remature  consolation,  spoke 
to  him  gently  and  soothingly.  For  some  time  lie 
resisted  her  efibrts  to  make  him  disburden  himself 
of  his  grief,  but  he  secretly  longed  to  yield,  and  at 
length,  M^ithout  solicitation,  related  his  whole  history; 
one  of  toil,  pain,  and  misery,  which  forcibly  reminded 
the  listener  of  the  widow  Jeanne's  narrative. 


MADELEINE.  237 


Madeleine  possessed  little  skill  in  the  art  of  offering 
consolation,  for  her  chief  arguments  were  :  "  It  is  the 
wiR  of  God ;  let  us  bear  it  patiently,  and  hope ;  for," 
added  she,  with  one  of  her  own  smiles,  "  does  it  not 
show  the  infinite  goodness  of  God  to  man  that  he 
should  have  made  a  virtue  of  hope  ?"  But  the  faith 
and  earnestness  of  her  simple  exhortations  gave  them 
a  power  in  which  more  elaborate  and  logical  reason- 
ino-  might  have  been  deficient. 

"  Mademoiselle  Madeleine,"  said  Pierre,  in  reply  to 
her  gentle  attempts  at  consolation,  "  I  know  not  how 
it  is,  but,  though  I  think  I  have  heard  all  you  tell  me 
before  now,  it  makes  my  heart  lighter  to  hear  it  again 
from  your  lips.  Perhaps  you  will  not  take  it  amiss  if 
I  call  upon  you  whenever  I  come  round  this  way  ?" 

"  Assuredly  not,"  answered  Madeleine,  "  you  shall 
always  be  welcome  in  the  hospital  which  you  have 
helped  to  erect." 

"  I  have  been  paid  for  my  labor,"  replied  Pierre, 
"and,  since  we  come  to  speak  of  this,  I  wish  you 
would  take  back  half  of  the  money.  I  know  that 
you  must  have  despised  me,  like  the  rest,  but  indeed 
poverty  hardens  the  heart." 

But  Madeleine  Avould  not  hear  of  this;  she  told 
him  it  would  be  a  great  sin  to  deprive  him  of  the 
money  which  was  to  give  bread  to  his  children,  and 
Pierre  at  length  yielded  to  her  representations.  As 
the  dews  of  evening  were  now  beginning  to  fell,  she 
rose  from  the  seat  she  had  taken  near  him  and  bade 
him  farewell. 

"  Be  more  sociable,  and  mingle  more  with  your 
companions,  Pierre,"  she  urged,  as  they  were  sepa- 
rating.    But  Pierre  shook  his  head,  as  though  this 


238  MADELEINE. 


were  an  effort  to  which  he  did  not  yet  feel  equal,  and, 
bidding  her  an  abrupt  farewell,  he  turned  away. 

The  sight  of  wretchedness,  under  whatever  form  it 
offered  itself,  always  grieved  Madeleine.  As  she 
slowly  walked  home  she  thought  of  Pierre's  fate,  and 
it  filled  her  heart  with  sadness.  It  was  that  of  thou- 
sands, she  knew ;  and  then  came  the  thought  of  how 
trifling  an  amount  of  misery  would  be  relieved  by  the 
hospital  of  Mont-Saint- Jean. 

"  Yet,  if  a  few  beings  are  less  unhappy,  shall  I  have 
toiled  in  vain  ?"  asked  Madeleine  of  herself,  and  the 
reply  of  the  inward  voice  told  her,  "  Ko  labor  of  love 
and  charity  can  be  in  vain." 

"Well,  Madeleine,"  said  Marie  to  her  friend,  as 
she  entered  the  house,  "your  hospital  is  finished; 
are  you  happy  now  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  am  happy,"  said  Madeleine,  looking  up, 
"  very  happy,  for  my  task  is  almost  done." 

She  uttered  these  words  in  a  tone  of  such  deep  and 
solemn  joy  that  it  affected  Marie,  and  rendered  her 
sad  and  thoughtful  during  the  whole  evening. 


CHAPTER  XXr. 

The  hospital  of  Mont-Saint-Jean  was  now  finished, 
and  every  one  hailed  the  event,  and  congratulated 
Madeleine  with  the  most  unfeigned  joy.  M.  Dubois, 
who  had  been  re-elected  mayor,  and  was  once  more 
in  possession  of  all  his  honors,  took  great  pride  in 
her  success,  which,  as  he  often  hinted,  might  not  have 


MADELEINE.  239 


been  so  complete  under  a  different  government.  M. 
Bignon  was  glad  that  Madeleine  should  have  brought 
her  long  task  so  near  its  close  ;  but  his  gladness  was 
not  unmingled  with  regret. 

"  He  would  have  been  glad  to  see  it,  would  he  not, 
Madeleine  ?"  he  asked,  looking  at  her  earnestly. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  believe  he  would,"  answered  Made- 
leine, in  a  moved  tone  ;  "  M.  Morel  took  great  inter- 
est in  the  hospital." 

"  Ah,  he  did,"  said  M.  Bignon,  with  a  deep  sigh  ; 
"  but  we  must  be  resigned,  Madeleine.  I  hope  you 
are  resigned.  I  know  it  is  difficult ;  yet  you  see  how 
I  bear  it — and  yet  I  loved  him  like  a  brother,"  he 
added,  in  a  low  and  tremulous  voice. 

Here  Madeleine,  noticing  his  emotion,  of  which 
he  was  himself  unconscious,  changed  the  subject  of 
conversation. 

Though  the  hospital  was  finished,  it  still  required 
to  be  furnished;  but  Madeleine  declared  that  she 
could  not  think  of  seeing  to  this  whilst  the  workmen 
remained  unpaid,  and  both  she  and  Marie  Michon 
labored  almost  day  and  night  until  this  desirable  ob- 
ject had  been  effected.  When  it  was  known,  how- 
ever, that  the  men  had  received  the  money  due  to 
them,  every  one  in  the  village  was  anxious  to  learn 
from  Madeleine  when  and  how  the  hospital  would  be 
furnished. 

"  I  know  not,"  was  her  reply ;  and  though  it  was 
such  as  might  have  been  expected,  it  created  a  gen- 
eral feeling  of  disappointment.  The  people  of  Mont- 
Saint-Jean  wished  to  believe  that  Madeleine  could  do 
what  she  liked,  and  possessed  resources  peculiar  to 
herself. 


240  MADELEINE 


Madeleine  knew,  however,  that  to  fit  np  the  hospital 
properly  would  take  a  great  deal  of  money,  and  that 
it  would  consequently  be  unwise  to  fix  an  epoch  still 
unknown  to  her.  But,  though  she  said  nothing  on 
the  subject,  Marie  Michon  could  see  that  it  was  one 
which  was  seldom  absent  from  her  thoughts. 

Towards  the  beginning  of  the  winter  old  Joseph 
became  very  ill,  and  M.  Detrimont  soon  declared  that 
no  hope  of  his  recovery  could  be  entertained. 

The  old  man  showed  no  fear  of  death,  for  which 
he  prepared  with  great  calmness,  receiving  M.  Bi- 
gnon's  exhortation,  if  not  with  fervent  piety,  at  least 
with  a  becoming  spirit.  Madeleine  attended  on  him, 
as  she  always  did  whenever  any  of  her  pensioners 
were  ill,  with  the  greatest  care  and  tenderness.  To 
her  surprise,  far  from  receiving  her  attentions  with 
the  moroseness  which  he  had  always  displayed,  Joseph 
now  seemed  sincerely  grateful  for  whatever  she  did. 
He  could  even  scarcely  bear  her  to  be  out  of  his  sight, 
and  never  appeared  happy  or  at  ease  unless  when  she 
remained  in  the  room.  Yet,  when  she  complied  with 
his  wish,  he  seldom  addressed  her — her  presence 
seemed  enough  for  him.  Perhaps  he  guessed  that 
this  sudden  change  of  behavior  was  likely  to  create 
some  wonder  in  Madeleine,  for  once  or  twice  during 
the  course  of  his  illness  she  met  his  glance  fixed  uj^on 
her  with  a  singular  expression,  whilst  he  muttered  to 
himself — 

"  She  has  thought  me  harsh  and  ungrateful,  but 
she  shall  see — slic  shall  see." 

When  Joseph  felt  at  length,  from  his  increasing 
weakness,  that  he  had  only  a  few  hours  more  to  live, 
he  requested  to  see  his  children,  who,  on  Madeleine's 


MADELEINE.  241 


urgent  message,  immediatelv  made  their  appearance, 
and,  gathering  round  the  bed  of  their  father,  inquired, 

"  How  he  felt  now  ?" 

But,  to  Madeleine's  surprise,  the  old  man  took  no 
other  notice  of  them  than  to  bid  them  harshly  not  to 
come  so  near  him ;  after  which  he  earnestly  asked 
that  M.  Dubois  and  the  priest  might  be  sent  for. 
When  this  request  had  been  comj^lied  with,  he  looked 
around  him,  as  though  to  feel  sure  that  every  one  he 
wanted  was  present,  after  which,  gathering  his  failing 
etrength,  he  observed,  in  a  firm  voice, — 

"  M.  Dubois,  will  you  be  kind  enough  to  lift  up 
my  pillow,  and  take  away  what  you  will  find  under- 
neath it?" 

The  mayor  obeyed,  and  drew  forth  a  large  leathern 
purse,  tolerably  well  filled.  Every  one  looked  with 
surprise  on  his  neighbor,  and  Madeleine  was  not  the 
least  astonished  of  any. 

"  Open  it,  and  count  the  silver  in  the  larger  end  of 
the  two,"  continued  Joseph,  without  seeming  to  notice 
cither  the  general  surprise  or  that  of  his  children, 
who  had  long  thought  him  penniless.  The  mayor 
counted  the  money,  which  amounted  to  a  hundred 
and  ten  francs,  in  five-franc  pieces.  "  That  is  cor- 
rect," said  the  old  man ;  "  now  count  the  gold  at  the 
other  end." 

M.  Dubois  obeyed,  and  found  twenty  gold  pieces, 
or  four  hundred  francs, — in  all  five  hundred  and  ten 
francs,  which  Joseph  said  was  the  exact  amount  con- 
tained in  the  purse. 

"  I  suppose,"  observed  M.  Dubois,  "  you  wish  to 
bequeath  this  money  to  some  one  ;  perhaps  to  your 
eldest  son,  Mathieu  ?" 


11 


242  MADELEINE. 

"Xo,"  almost  fiercely  replied  the  old  mau,  "not 
to  him !  but  I  call  you  all  to  witness  that  of  this 
money  I  bequeath  two  gold  pieces  to  Marie  Michon, 
for  her  kindness  to  me  during  several  years." 

"  And  the  rest,  I  8uj)pose,  goes  to  Madeleine  ?"  ex- 
claimed Mathieu,  with  a  malignant  scowl. 

"To  Madeleine,"  replied  his  fother,  eyeing  him 
sternly,  "  I  leave — nothing." 

There  was  a  general  feeling  of  surprise,  but  Made- 
leine alone  remained  calm  and  unmoved. 

"Then  to  whom  do  you  leave  it,  father  dear?"  ex- 
claimed one  of  his  daufrhters,  eagerly  drawinc;  near 
him,  "to  whom  do  you  leave  it?" 

"  To  the  hospital  of  Mont-Saiut-Jean,"  answered 
Joseph,  without  looking  on  his  daughter,  who  drew 
away,  biting  her  lip.  "  I  call  you  all  to  witness," 
continued  the  sick  man,  looking  round  him  and 
speaking  in  a  firm  tone,  "  that  I  leave  this  money  to 
the  hos]Dital  of  Mont-Saint- Jean,  and  that  I  do  not 
intrust  it  to  the  care  of  Madeleine,  but  to  that  of  M. 
Bignon,  the  cure.  M.  Dubois,  hand  liim  over  tlie 
purse,  if  you  please." 

"  Kay,"  interjjosed  the  priest,  "  be  not  too  liasty, 
ray  friend  ;  think  of  your  children." 

"  I  do  think  of  them,  sir,"  replied  the  old  man, 
with  a  stern  smile,  "  and  of  the  day  when  they  sent 
their  old  father  to  trust  to  the  mercy  of  the  stranger. 
Little  did  they  think  then  that  they  sent  his  gold 
and  his  silver  away  with  him  too  ;  to  them  I  leave — 
nothing." 

Mathieu,  exasperated  by  this  speech,  could  not  re- 
strain himself,  but,  in  an  under  tone,  muttered  some- 
tliing  about  having  the  money  when  the  old  fool  was 


MADELEINE.  243 


dead.  His  father  heard  him,  and  giving  him  a  look 
from  which  the  man  shrank,  said,  in  a  solemn  tone, 
"  Ye  have  heard  him !  Plear  me  now  :  if  he  or  any 
other  of  those  who  call  themselves  my  children  dare 
so  mnch  as  claim  a  five-franc  piece  of  this  money 
when  I  am  gone,  may  my  cnrse  rest  upon  them." 

"  This  is  no  Christian  spirit,"  gravely  remarked  M. 
Bignon. 

"  Nay,"  replied  the  old  man,  "  I  will  do  with  my 
own  as  I  list ;  and  I  repeat  it  again,  two  gold  pieces 
I  give  to  Marie  Michon,  and  the  rest  to  the  hospital 
of  Mont-Saint-Jean." 

"  But  surely  you  will  bless  your  children  ?"  urged 
the  priest. 

"  They  have  both  my  blessing  and  my  forgiveness," 
said  Joseph,  with  a  bitter  smile,  which  showed  how 
well  he  knew  the  value  they  were  likely  to  set  on 
gifts  so  unsubstantial,  "  but  of  my  money  not  one 
Hard  !  I  have  said  it.  ISTow  let  M.  Dubois  give  the 
purse  to  M.  Bignon,  and  let  every  one,  save  him  and 
Madeleine,  leave  me,  that  I  may  die  in  peace." 

The  request  was  complied  with  :  old  Joseph's  chil- 
dren departed  with  a  bitter  mortification,  which  they 
vainly  strove  to  conceal,  whilst  their  fatlier  v.^as  left 
alone  with  Madeleine  and  M.  Big-non. 

"  Madeleine,"  said  the  old  man,  looking  kindly  on 
her,  and  speaking  in  a  gentle  tone,  "  you  are  not  an- 
gry with  me,  are  you  ?" 

"  Why  should  I  be  angry  with  you,  Joseph  ?" 

"  I  did  not  leave  you  the  money,"  he  continued, 
following  his  own  train  of  thought,  "  because  I  know 
them  and  their  malice  too  well ;  they  would  have  al- 
lowed you  no  rest ;  but  I  left  it  to  the  hospital  of 


244  MADELEINE 


Mont-Saint-Jean,  which  is  dearer  to  you  than  any 
thing  else  on  earth.  I  would  not,  however,  let  the 
money  be  in  your  hands,  for  with  that  too  they 
would  have  found  fault ;  but  if  the  cure  has  the  man- 
aging of  it,  I  know  they  dare  not  murmur ;  and 
though  they  may  not  care  for  my  curse,"  he  added, 
in  a  sorrowful  tone,  "  yet  very  shame  will  not  allow 
them  to  complain  too  loud  after  what  has  passed. 
Now,  Madeleine,  that  I  have  explained  every  thing  to 
you,  leave  me  a  while  alone  with  M.  Bignon." 

Madeleine  left  the  room,  but  soon  returned,  for  the 
old  man  felt  himself  dying.  In  compliance  with  his 
request,  she  sat  down  by  his  bedside,  and  gave  him 
her  hand.  He  muttered  in  a  low  tone,  "  Tell  them, 
Madeleine,  that  I  forgave  them,"  then  placed  her 
hand  uj^on  his  eyes,  which  were  soon  closed  in  their 
eternal  slumber. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

The  money  left  by  old  Joseph  proved  of  the  great- 
est service  to  Madeleine,  for  M.  Bignon,  who  consid- 
ered his  trust  to  be  merely  nominal,  immediately 
placed  it  at  her  disposal,  and  Mary  Michon  positively 
refused  to  accept  of  the  little  sum  left  her  by  the  de- 
ceased. Madeleine  thus  found  herself  in  possession 
of  five  hundred  and  ten  francs,  which  was  sjjeedily 
applied  to  the  purchase  of  bedsteads,  linen,  and  bed- 
ding. Whatever  she  could  spare  from  her  earnings 
was  indeed  devoted  to  the  purpose  of  furnishing  the 
hospital  of  Mont-Saint- Jean,  as  well  as  a  hundred  and 


MADELEINE.  245 


fifty  francs  which  she  received  from  Madame  de 
Meurice.  Owing  to  her  active  exertions,  the  hos- 
pital was  prepared  to  receive  its  inmates  towards  the 
beginning  of  sirring,  and  Madeleine  now  thought  il 
time  to  remove  to  it. 

Her  family  then  consisted  of  eight  persons,  besides 
herself,  Lise,  and  Marie  Michon  ;  the  hospital  could 
contain  about  sixty  individuals,  but  there  were  only 
beds  for  twenty  at  the  present  time.  l!s^ot withstand- 
ing the  prudent  remonstrances  which  assailed  her 
from  every  quai"ter,  Madeleine  selected  ten  persons 
from  amongst  the  most  destitute  and  infirm  in  the 
village,  and  iiivited  them  to  take  up  their  abode  in 
the  village  hospital  as  soon  as  it  should  be  opened. 

The  important  day  which  had  been  fixed  by  Mad- 
eleine for  the  removal  of  her  family  to  their  new 
abode  at  length  arrived.  At  an  eai'ly  hour  in  the 
morning,  M.  Dubois,  with  his  tri-color  scarf,  the  em- 
blem of  his  dignity,  tied  around  his  portly  person, 
and  followed  by  Jean  Eenaud,  whom  he  treated  with 
mortifying  haughtiness,  made  his  appearance  at  Mad- 
eleine's house,  and  with  the  most  bustling  and  im- 
portant look  inquired  if  every  thing  were  read3\ 
M.  Blgnon  almost  immediately  followed  him,  and 
looked  extremely  as-itated  and  nervous.  Consider- 
ing  that  a  removal  was  going  on,  they  found  the 
house  tolerably  quiet;  Marie  seemed  rather  flurried, 
and  Lise,  who  ran  from  one  room  to  another,  felt 
evidently  in  a  state  of  great  excitement ;  but  Made- 
leine, who  was  at  breakfast,  wore  her  usual  look  of 
composure.  "When  the  meal  was  over — the  last  she 
was  to  take  in  that  house — she  rose,  and,  with 
Marie's  assistance,  had  soon  caused  the  remaining 


246  MADELEINE. 


furniture — for  as  much  as  could  be  spared  had  been 
conveyed  to  the  hospital  on  the  preceding  day — to 
be  placed  in  a  cart,  which  was  waiting  at  the  door. 
When  this  had  been  effected,  nothing  remained  to  do 
but  to  depart.  M.  Dubois,  who  was  present  in  his 
official  capacity,  in  order  to  do  Madeleine  more  hon- 
or, now  felt  extremely  anxious  to  know  what  was  to 
be  the  order  of  the  procession. 

"For  you  see,  Madeleine,"  he  observed,  "every 
eye  will  be  upon  us  to-day ;  I  verily  believe  that  all 
the  inhabitants  of  Mont-Saint-Jean  will  be  present ; 
and  as  I  entered  here  I  saw  some  fellows  from  Puy- 
saye,  who  had  come  to  see  the  sight,  I  suppose.  We 
must  show  them  what  we  can  do,  Madeleine." 

"  jSTay,  sir,  what  can  be  done,  and  what  will  they 
see  ?"  replied  Madeleine,  with  a  smile,  "  a  cart  of 
furniture,  and  a  few  old  people,  removing  from  one 
house  to  another." 

"Ay,  to  be  sure,"  said  Jean  Renaud,  who  had 
lately  shown  signs  of  insubordination,  "  what  will 
they  see  ?" 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Mr.  Adjoint,"  wrathfully  ob- 
served M.  Dubois,  who  felt  rather  offended  that  Mad- 
eleine should  not  have  considered  him  likely  to  excite 
attention  and  interest.  "  Madeleine,"  he  continued, 
in  a  lofty  tone,  "  I  must  beg  to  differ  from  you  on 
this  point ;  however  unimportant  the  procession  may 
be  in  itself,  yet,  when  it  is  invested  with  an  official 
character,  it  becomes  the  object  of  serious  considera- 
tion, especially  when  the  whole  world  is  as  it  were 
looking  on.  I  believe  M.  Bignon  is  of  my  opinion," 
he  added,  with  a  ceremonious  bow  in  the  direction  of 
the  cure  J  who,  thus  roused  from  a  deep  revery,  into 


MADELEINE.  247 


whicli  tlie  recollection  of  his  departed  friend  had 
thrown  him,  replied,  with  a  startled  look, 

"  Oh  !  yes,  of  course." 

Madeleine,  in  the  mean  while,  was  arranging  the 
order  of  the  procession  according  to  her  own  fashion  ; 
to  M.  Dubois's  indignant  astonishment  the  cart  went 
first,  then  came  the  little  body  of  the  future  inmates 
of  the  hospital ;  those  Avho  were  too  sick  or  infirm  to 
walk  being  carried  on  rude  litters ;  Madeleine  walked 
at  their  head,  with  M.  Bignon  on  her  right  hand  and 
the  mayor  and  his  adjoint  on  her  left ;  Marie  Michon 
and  Lise  brought  up  the  rear.  As  soon  as  they  left 
the  house  and  appeared  in  the  street,  a  low  murmur 
ran  through  the  crowd,  which  had  gathered  around 
the  house,  though  not  so  near  as  to  impede  the  prog- 
ress of  the  little  caravan. 

"  Ay,  thez'e  she  goes  !  that  is  Madeleine,  with  tlic 
gray  cloak  I*'  was  the  exclamation  to  which  several 
persons  gave  utterance,  for,  as  M.  Dubois  had  truly 
observed,  there  were  manv  individuals  of  the  neigh- 
boring  villages  present.  Madeleine  was  at  first 
startled  by  the  appearance  of  so  large  a  crowd,  but 
the  looks  of  affection  and  heartfelt  respect  which  she 
met  on  every  side  soon  made  her  resume  her  usual 
serenity.  On  a  sign  from  her  the  man  who  was  to 
lead  the  cart  urged  his  horse  forward,  and  the  whole 
procession,  as  M.  Dubois  styled  it,  began  to  move, 
followed  by  the  crowd.  The  mayor,  who,  whether 
by  accident  or  design,  always  preceded  his  compan- 
ions, natm-ally  considered  his  majestic  person  and 
tri-color  scarf  as  the  chief  points  of  attraction ;  was 
be  not  indeed  the  representative  of  government  on 
this  solemn  occasion?     lie  would  have  been  some 


248  MADELEINE. 


what  mortified  had  he  known  that  Madeleine  was  the 
only  individual  who  excited  real  interest. 

Though  this  was  a  solemn  day  in  her  life,  she  bore 
it,  as  she  did  every  thing,  whether  of  weal  or  woe, 
with  calmness.  She  was  grave  and  thoughtful,  how- 
ever, for  memory  carried  her  back  to  all  that  had 
occurred  during  the  four  years  which  had  elapsed 
since  she  had  first  conceived  her  bold  project.  Seeing 
her  abstracted  and  silent,  M.  Bignon  did  not  speak  ; 
M.  Dubois  was  too  much  wrapped  up  in  the  consid- 
eration of  his  own  importance  to  do  any  thing,  save 
when  he  occasionally  thought  fit  to  administer  a 
sharp  reproof  to  his  adjoint.  The  behavior  of  the 
crowd  seemed  modelled  on  that  of  Madeleine ;  every 
one  looked  grave  and  composed,  and  walked  quietly 
along.  In  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  they  reached 
the  foot  of  the  hill,  on  which  now  arose  that  hospital 
which  had  so  lonsr  been  treated  as  the  dream  of  an 
enthusiastic  girl.  The  morning  was  lovely,  and  the 
brilliant  sunshine  and  cloudless  azure  sky  enhanced 
the  romantic  beauty  of  the  surrounding  scenery;  but 
no  one  thought  of  admiring  any  thing  save  the  hos- 
pital of  Mont-Saint-Jean,  with  its  white  walls,  green 
shutters,  and  slate-covered  roof.  It  was,  however,  a 
low,  unpretending,  and  unpicturesque  looking  build- 
ing, standing  in  the  middle  of  a  large  tract  of  ground, 
laid  out  in  a  manner  which  showed  that  advantage 
had  been  more  consulted  than  taste  or  beauty.  Still 
there  was  an  air  of  comfort  about  the  whole  place 
that  made  it  look  like  the  abode  of  some  wealthy 
farmer ;  but,  though  it  was  by  no  means  calcidated 
to  give  the  idea  of  a  hospital,  every  one  pronounced 
it  perfect  in  its  way,  and  declared  that  it  was  vastly 


MADELEINE.  249 


saij^erior  to  the  building  whicli  adorned  tlie  chef-lieu 
of  the  department.  The  only  token  of  a  public  char- 
acter which  the  edifice  displayed,  was  the  tri-color 
flag,  which  had  been  hoisted  up  by  M.  Dubois's  di- 
rections, and  now  waved  proudly  from  the  summit  ol 
the  highest  chimney. 

When  they  were  within  about  twenty  yards  of  the 
house,  Madeleine  stepped  forward,  and,  taking  the 
lead,  advanced  to  open  the  door,  for  she  had  so  ar 
ranged  matters  that  all  the  members  of  her  family 
might  find  accommodation  for  the  present  without 
being  disturbed  by  the  removal  of  the  furniture. 
AVhen  she  stood  on  the  threshold  of  her  new  abode, 
Madeleine  paused,  with  deep  emotion,  and,  as  she 
raised  her  glance  to  heaven,  and  clasped  her  hands 
fervently,  she  repeated  in  a  low  tone  the  words  of 
Simeon : 

"  InTow  mayst  thou  dismiss  thy  servant,  O  Lord, 
according  to  thy  word,  in  peace ;  because  mine  eyes 
have  seen  thy  salvation,  which  thou  hast  prepared 
before  the  face  of  all  people." 

Marie,  who  stood  near  Madeleine,  alone  heard  these 
words,  and  marked  the  look  and  smile  of  rapturous 
joy  which  dwelt  on  the  features  of  the  speaker,  in- 
vesting them  for  a  while  with  almost  unearthly  beauty. 
But  while  she  was  still  wondering  uneasily  what 
Madeleine's  exclamation  could  signify,  her  friend 
turned  round,  and  addressing  her  family,  which  now 
crowded  around  her,  gently  said  : 

"  Children,  this  is  your  home." 

The  words  could  not  have  been  more  simple,  yet 
many  wept  on  hearing  them,  for,  as  they  gazed  on 
Madeleine's  fragile  furm  and  pale  features,  all  re 

11* 


250  MADELEINE. 

membered  the  toil  and  anxietj  which  it  had  coet  her 
to  win  that  home  for  the  poor. 

The  door  now  being  thrown  open,  eTeiy  one  want- 
ed to  obtain  a  sight  of  Idie  interior  of  the  hospital  of 

Mont-Saint-Jean.  X.  Dubois,  however,  interfered, 
aad  made  a  long  speech  on  the  necessity  of  preserving 
order,  and  on  tiie  C5  wonld  inflict  on  anv  dis- 

tnrbers  of  thej   '"  e.    He  did  not  appear  to 

produce  mnc^  :       :  '  ^'"■^:^:-"~  -ijquested,  in  a 

tew  wer  5-. :':  _        d  given  to  the 

remoT^ii    :  :  she  premised 

t?:r:t  c^rrvr:  :  -.  --ttal.    In  a  very 

:-?  "With  which 

rfc  was  _  .  proper 

; '    -  -  - .:  .".  -^  -  ^   .   -  ■    ..  -irted 

to  look  over  me  e; : ..     r  :      1  _      ieit  the  place 

bv  ;. "      '  .     ;  :  .  hj  others;  thns. 

■  -.         I'..  '.. .     .■-    ;-  _   .     y.!-,  even 

L-^v  Lv^  _  :    r_  :.  ■     -  _-     .  .  _  ..it every 

one's  v.;„-.;.:  -  -  ■  -:;.  ,1, 

'Pte-rewas, _-  ..    ...'..'■..-    -..  "■'-''ace; 

_-.v  wv^Qi^  com:....    '     _    ..      _.-...;  :  the 

stii-.       .  ...  _  -lOls,  r."..  .  .  was  t«>  have  been  the 

salon  of  the  visi:   .  -   :  .    .  -     .   j.  was  now 

.  into  :..-   ::..:  .Ksined  twelve 

hfckks,,,:-      _  .    :         .......  -7  as  forty;  a  col- 

-  -lii'cS,  VT  -  ...■.-.'. 


the  pre?e:il  .         .^ ' 
iji(>i!ise  '-.-..  ~ 

:.  «S:c^  weie  sucii  as 


:':ier.    The 


iiiaU 


MADEI-ZISS.  251 


farm,  fbr,  tboa^  31  7  ^ 

teaciof  land,  sh«r  jai- 

stitiites  a,h3z^ 

Sever  '.  _  - .        -    -  -   -.-resy  :    -   - 

the  . 
^ii-  - 

doWi:  -  -  :- 


down,  as  :-     .'-  "--  eser- 

- --  «>  J-  -    ■  -  - 


-Ye?. 


252  MADELEINE 


"The hospital," she  said,  " ah-eady  possessed  ahirgo 
tract  of  ground  in  a  productive  state ;  she  had  sold  a 
few  months  before  the  land  belonging  to  her,  and, 
with  the  money  she  had  received  for  it,  had  purchased 
a  few  fields  adjoining  her  present  abode.  The  j)rod- 
uce  of  this  land  in  corn  and  vegetables  sufficed  to 
maintain  the  establishment.  Then  all  we  require  for 
the  present,"  she  added,  "is  a  little  .aioney  to  buy 
meat  occasionally,  and  provide  us  with  clothing ;  but 
neither  Marie  nor  myself  mean  to  remain  idle;  then, 
surely,  it  is  not  presumptuous  to  hope  that  our  earn- 
ings will  supply  whatever  deficiencies  may  occur." 

"Well,  I  will  grant  this,"  answered  the  mayor, 
"  but  you  have  only  twenty  patients  now ;  how  will 
you  manage,  when,  according  to  your  intention,  you 
will  have  sixty?" 

"Providence  will  see  to  that,"  answered  Made- 
leine, with  a  smile.  And  M.  Dubois,  being  hopeless 
of  bringing  her  round  to  his  way  of  thinking,  rose 
and  departed,  but  not  w-ithout  once  more  congratu- 
lating Madeleine  on  her  success,  and  hinting  at  the 
share  he  had  in  it.  M.  Detrimont  took  his  leave  soom 
afterwards,  for  he  had  only  called  on  his  w^ay  to  an- 
other village  ;  his  last  words  to  Madeleine  contained 
a  recommendation  about  not  over-exerting  herself, 
and  taking  care  of  her  health.  "When  they  were  both 
gone,  M.  Bignon  also  rose  to  depart.  He  had  spoken 
little  the  whole  morning,  but  as  he  now  addressed 
Madeleine,  his  voice  was  deeply  moved. 

"  Madeleine,"  said  he,  as  he  stood  on  the  threshold 
of  her  new  home,  "  I  will  not  call  down  the  blessing 
of  heaven  either  on  you  or  on  this  place  before  I  go, 
for  I  know  that  it  is  with  both  already.     I  remember 


MADELEINE.  253 


that  on  a  morning  like  this,  four  years  ago,  you  called 
upon  me  to  tell  me  that  a  hospital  should  one  day 
rise  on  this  very  spot,  yet  I  did  not  believe  you ;  it 
stands  before  me  now  to  reprove  my  want  of  iiiith. 
But  there  was  onew'ho  always  believed  in  you,  Made- 
leine ;  he  loved  you,  and  understood  you  well,  for  ho 
had  a  soul  to  conceive  all  that  was  good  and  great ; 
but  I  did  not  mean  to  speak  of  him,"  added  the 
worthy  priest,  checking  himself,  w^ith  a  sigh  ;  "  what 
I  wanted  to  say,  Madeleine,  was,  that  though  in  spir- 
itual matters  it  were  fitter  for  me  to  crave  your  assist- 
ance than  for  you  to  seek  mine,  yet  there  may  be 
earthly  concerns  in  which  I  can  help  you :  if  so, 
speak,  for  I  know  you  have  much  to  do  and  settle." 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,"  replied  Madeleine  ;  "  and,  since 
such  is  the  case,  I  will  make  one  request." 

"  AVhat  is  it,  Madeleine  ?"  asked  M.  Bignon,  with 
much  alacrity. 

"  Merely,  sir,  that  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to  M'rite  to 
Madame  de  Boissy,  the  lady  whom  I  met  in  the  wood 
last  year,  and  who  collected  the  money  for  me,  to  tell 
her  that  the  hospital  of  Mont-Saint- Jean  is  now^  opened. 
I  promised  to  let  her  know  when  this  should  happen, 
and  you  will  tell  her  all  much  better  than  I  could." 

"  Kay,  Madeleine,  I  do  not  grant  this ;  but  I  know 
you  are  very  busy  now,  and  so  I  will  write  the  letter. 
Do  you  wish  for  nothing  else?" 

"  For  nothing,  sir,  thank  you." 

"  Then  farewell,  Madeleine ;  God  bless  you  !" 

Madeleine  returned  his  farewell,  and  the  priest 
departed.  The  remainder  of  the  day  produced  no 
remarkable  event,  and  was  merely  spent  in  all  the 
bustle  usually  attending  on  a  removal. 


254  MADELEINE 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Aftee  the  lapse  of  a  few  days  Madeleine  and  her 
ftimily  were  comfortably  settled  in  their  new  abode, 
or,  as  it  was  now  generally  called,  the  Hosj^ital.  M. 
Dubois,  who  felt,  as  he  said,  that  he  had  acted  an 
important  part  in  the  whole  affair,  was  extremely 
anxious  that  the  edifice — so  he  termed  it — should 
either  possess  a  more  dignified  appellation,  or  be  at 
least  adorned  with  an  inscription.  Though  Made- 
leine thought  that  "•  The  Hosj)ital"  was  as  good  a 
name  as  any,  she  was  prevailed  upon  to  have  her 
house  christened  anew,  and  a  consultation  at  which 
she  assisted  was  accordingly  held  on  this  important 
subject  in  the  mairie.  M.  Dubois  opened  the  pro- 
ceedings, by  proposing  to  call  the  hosj^ital  "The 
Asylum  of  the  Unhappy." 

"  Nay,"  said  Madeleine,  "  that  would  not  be  cor- 
rect ;  for  I  assure  you,  M.  Dubois,  that  we  are  all 
very  happy  at  home." 

Several  other  suggestions  were  made,  all  equally 
inappropriate ;  M.  Bignon  at  length  proj)Osed  "  The 
House  of  the  Poor." 

But  to  this  Madeleine  also  objected. 

"  If  we  call  it  '  The  House  of  the  Poor,' "  she  re- 
marked, "no  one  will  like  to  go  into  it ;  let  us  rather 
give  it  a  name  which  will  make  it  no  shame  to  dwell 
in  it,  and  call  it  'The  House  of  God.'  " 

M.  Bignon  greatly  approved  of  this  idea,  though 
he  informed  Madeleine  that  it  was  not  an  original 
one,  as  Maison-Dieu  and  Hotel-Dieu  were  common 


MADELEINE.  255 


names  for  such  cliaritable  establishments  clm*ing  the 
middle  ages.  But  M.  Dubois,  who  felt  secretly 
piqued  at  the  indifference  with  which  his  sentimental 
name  of  "  Asylum  for  the  Unhajipy"  had  been  treated, 
declared,  that  unless  it  were  couched  in  Latin  or  some 
other  learned  language,  Madeleine's  suggestion  was 
of  too  common-place  a  character  to  be  adopted.  As 
M.  Bignon  seconded  this  remark,  Domus  Domini 
was  agreed  upon  as  the  name  under  which  the  hos- 
pital should  be  known  in  future. 

"  Let  it  be  as  you  like,"  quietly  remarked  Made- 
leine ;  "  but  what  is  the  use  of  a  name  which  no  one 
save  M.  Bignon  can  understand  ?" 

"  Ay,"  echoed  Jean  Eenaud,  "  what  is  the  use  of 
it?" 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  sir,"  sternly  said  the  mayor ; 
"  you  do  not  understand  Latin,  I  believe." 

"  '^a  more  does  Madeleine,"  replied  the  adjoint, 
who,  if  he  had  dared,  would  have  added  that  M. 
Dubois  was  equally  ignorant  of  the  learned  language. 

The  mayor  was  determined,  however,  that  a  Latin 
inscription  should  adorn  the  hospital  of  Mont-Saint- 
Jean,  and,  as  Madeleine  felt  rather  indiiferent  on  this 
important  subject,  he  easily  carried  his  point.  In 
less  than  a  week  a  blue  tablet  with  golden  letters  was 
fixed  over  the  unpretending  door  of  the  establishment, 
setting  forth  that  it  had  been  built  and  opened  whilst 
Jacques  Dubois  was  mayor  of  Mont-Saint- Jean ;  but 
as  this  piece  of  information  was,  like  the  name  of  tlie 
hospital,  couched  in  the  Latin  tongue,  it  was  wholly 
lost  on  the  many,  which  somewhat  lessened  the  gratifi- 
cation of  the  mayor.  The  Latin  name  proved,  more- 
over, quite  a  failure ;  every  one  persisted  in  calling 


256  MADELEINE, 


Madeleine's  house  the  hospital  of  Mont-Saint-Jean; 
and  as  the  blue  tablet,  with  the  inscription  in  gold 
letters,  fell  to  pieces  before  it  had  been  up  six  months, 
M.  Dubois,  at  whose  expense  it  had  been  put  in  its 
place,  saw  all  hie  hopes  of  future  glory  vanish  with 
it,  but  had  sufficient  wisdom  not  to  have  it  replaced 
by  another. 

The  summer  passed  away  without  producing  any 
remarkable  events.    The  fame  of  the  hospital  spread, 
however,  over  the  country,  and  it  was  now  considered 
one  of  the  curiosities  of  Auvergne.     Numerous  visit- 
ors came  to  visit  the  establishment,  and,  though  they 
found  much  to  criticise,  telling  Madeleine  that  her 
hospital  ought  to  have  been  built  on  a  very  different 
plan,  and  provided  with  many  conveniences  in  which 
it  was  deficient,  they  generally  ended  by  compliment- 
ino-  her  on  the  order  she  had  established,  and  left 
some  substantial  tokens  of  their  approbation.     The 
donations  which  she  thus  received  soon  enabled  Ma- 
deleine to  repay  the  thousand  francs  which  she  owed 
M.  Dubois  and  the  other  individuals  who  had  lent 
her  that  sum.     It  was  not  until  this  debt  had  been 
paid  that  she  thought  herself  at  liberty  to  admit  into 
the  hospital  as  many  individuals  as  it  could  contain ; 
she  did  not  effect  this  abruptly,  but  the  house  seemed 
to  fill  imperceptibly.    ISTow  it  was  an  old  woman  who 
begged  to  be  received,  pleading  her  poverty  and  great 
ase,  and  how  could  Madeleine  refuse  to  admit  her  ? 
then  some  poor  crippled  child,  a  burden  or  an  object 
of  dislike  to  its  parents,  was  taken  in.     The  claim  of 
the  sick  was  of  course  never  disregarded ;  and,  as 
there  were  neither  guardians  nor  overseers  to  impose 
a  check  on  the  apijlicants,  who  were  always  heard  by 


MADELEINE.  257 


Madeleine  lierself,  it  so  happened  that  a  year  after  it 
had  been  opened  the  hospital  contained  no  less  than 
fifty  persons.  How  Madeleine  provided  for  them  all 
was  the  never-ceasing  wonder  of  the  whole  village. 

But  Madeleine  seemed  ahle  to  explain  any  thing. 
In  the  first  place,  the  hospital  was,  as  she  asserted, 
partly  self-supporting.  The  donations  which  she  had 
received  since  repaying  the  thousand  francs  had  been 
judiciously  applied  by  her  to  the  purchase  of  land  ; 
so  that  in  what  seemed,  and  in  what  really  was,  a 
very  short  space  of  time,  the  hospital  stood  in  the 
centre  of  its  own  grounds,  which  soon  became  noted 
for  their  fertility  and  extent.  As  Madeleine  was 
obliged  to  hire  laborers  to  cultivate  her  land,  the  in- 
come she  derived  from  it  was  much  less  than  it  might 
have  been  otherwise  ;  but  she  contrived  to  make  np 
for  this  deficiency  by  rendering  every  able  member 
of  her  family  useful  in  one  way  or  another.  Some  of 
the  old  men  attended  to  the  vegetable  garden,  and 
kept  it  in  proper  order  ;  the  old  dames  who  had  be- 
come Madeleine's  guests  cleaned  the  rooms  or  mended 
the  linen  of  the  family ;  the  children  performed  the 
errands ;  but  the  task  of  attending  on  the  sick  was 
ciiiefly  allotted  to  Madeleine  and  Marie  Michon.  'Not- 
withstandingher  economy  and  excellent  management, 
Madeleine  occasionally  found  herself  in  difliculties, 
for  which  even  she  could  suggest  no  relief  save  in  the 
help  of  the  charitable.  Whenever  this  was  the  case, 
she  had  recourse  to  a  simple  plan,  which  generally 
proved  successful.  This  was  to  go  about  the  village 
carrying  a  large  basket  destined  to  contain  the  volun- 
tary contributions  of  the  villagers,  who  never  waited 
to  be  asked  in  order  to  place  in  it  whatever  they  felt 


258  MADELEINE. 


willing  to  give.  The  most  wealthy  contributed  a  loal 
of  bread,  or  perhaps  even  a  piece  of  meat ;  the  poor 
gave  whatever  they  could  spare,  though  it  might  be 
only  a  handful  of  chestnuts — they  knew  that  Made- 
leine despised  not  the  least  offering.  But,  though 
her  appeal  in  lavor  of  the  hospital  had  never  yet 
been  made  in  vain,  it  was  very  seldom  that  Made- 
leine recurred  to  this  method  of  lightening  the  bur- 
den which  rested  upon  her. 

When  the  hospital  had  been  opened  about  six 
months,  M.  Detrimont,  who  always  called  in  when- 
ever he  had  occasion  to  pass  through  Mont-Saint-Jean, 
declared  that  the  fatigue  Madeleine  experienced  was 
too  great  for  her  in  her  delicate  state  of  health,  and 
that  Marie  Michon's  assistance  was  not  sufficient. 
As  soon  as  this  was  known  in  the  village,  three 
women  offered  her  their  services.  They  were  all 
equally  fitted  for  the  task,  and,  when  she  was  called 
upon  to  choose  one  of  them,  Madeleine  said  so,  ob- 
serving at  the  same  time  that  she  only  needed  one 
assistant.  After  a  little  hesitation  she  selected  a  mid- 
dle-aged and  childless  widow,  "  and  who  was  there- 
fore best  suited,"  said  Madeleine,  "to  become  the 
mother  of  the  poor." 

As  "Widow  Marguerite  was  much  esteemed  in 
Mont-Saint- Jean,  this  decision  gave  universal  satis- 
liiction,  and  lier  aid  certainly  proved  very  valuable  to 
Madeleine. 

But,  thougli  matters  seemed  once  more  to  go  on 
smoothly,  Marie  Michon  did  not  feel  satisfied,  for  it 
seemed  to  lier  that,  instead  of  improving,  Madeleine's 
health  was  perceptibly  declining.  She  only  com- 
plained occasionally  of  a  sliarp  pain  in  the  region  of 


MADELEINE.  259 


the  heart,  but  the  hectic  flushes  which  frequently 
overspread  her  features,  and  the  languor  of  her  gen- 
eral appearance,  gave  her  friend  serious  uneasiness. 
Though  M.  Detrimont  watched  over  her  with  the 
greatest  care,  and  though  Madeleine  followed  his  ad- 
vice vrith  implicit  docility,  no  change  for  the  better 
seemed  to  take  place  in  her  health. 

Marie's  uneasiness  Vv-as  greatly  increased  by  the 
peculiar  state  of  her  friend's  mind.  She  was  as  gen- 
tle, and  spoke  as  kindly,  as  ever ;  but,  though  far 
from  relaxing  in  the  zealous  discharge  of  her  duties, 
she  seemed  on  the  contrary  insensible  to  fatigue 
whenever  they  were  concerned.  Marie  watched 
with  anxiety  and  surprise  the  mental  excitement 
which  now  seemed  to  accompany  every  effort. 

""Why,  Madeleine,"  said  she  to  her  one  day,  when, 
in  spite  of  her  evident  exhaustion,  Madeleine  seemed 
bent  on  finishing  some  piece  of  needlework  on  which 
she  was  engaged,  ''  what  ails  you  ?  One  might  think, 
to  see  you  toiling  so,  that  you  were  some  poor  work- 
ing-girl anxious  to  get  rid  of  her  task,  and  have  her 
day's  labor  over." 

Madeleine  looked  up,  and  gravely  replied,  "  You 
speak  more  truly  than  you  think,  Marie." 

"  How  so  ?"  falteringly  asked  her  friend. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Madeleine,  passing  her  hand 
across  her  feverish  brow,  "  I  do  feel  sometimes  like 
those  who  have  toiled  through  the  heat  of  the  day, 
and  who,  when  evening  comes  on,  long  for  repose. 
And,  is  it  not  strange,  Marie  ?  it  is  since  my  task  is 
almost  over,  since  we  came  here,  that  my  strength 
seems  to  leave  me,  slowly  though  sureh',  every  day. 
Think  of  how  much  there  is  yet  to  do  here,  and  won- 


2G0  MADELEINE. 


der  not,  therefore,  if  1  seem  to  hurrv  now,  though  the 
end  of  all  my  toil  is  near," 

"  Oh,  Madeleine !"  earnestly  exclaimed  Marie, 
"  take  some  rest,  for  the  love  of  heaven  !  Is  there  not 
time  enonarh  for  what  remains  to  be  done  ?" 

But  Madeleine  shook  her  head,  and  gently  said, 
"  Thou  dost  not  understand  me,  child :  that  is  not 
the  repose  I  speak  of,  and  for  which  I  long." 

"  Of  what  rest  do  you  then  speak  ?"  asked  Marie, 
with  evident  astonishment. 

"  I  cannot  explain  it  well,  though  I  feel  it  deeply," 
thoughtfully  answered  Madeleine  ;  "  but  it  is  indeed 
a  rest  beyond  all  troubling — something  like  what  we 
feel  when,  after  a  day's  weary  toil,  we  lay  down  to 
sleep  with  our  hearts  still  full  of  prayer," 

Marie  turned  her  head  away  to  hide  her  tears ; 
but  after  a  while  she  threw  her  arms  around  the  neck 
of  Madeleine,  and  in  a  broken  tone  exclaimed, 

"  Oh,  Madeleine  !  dear  Madeleine  !  do  not  leave 
me  yet — do  not !  and>  for  the  love  you  bear  me,  speak 
no  more  of  that  strange  rest." 

"  ]!:^ay,"  said  Madeleine,  with  a  smile,  "  think 
lightly  of  it ;  what  was  it  but  a  wayward  fancy  ? 
Since  it  troubles  thee  so  much,  I  shall  mention  it  no 


more." 


Marie  dried  her  tears,  and  strove  to  look  cheerful ; 
but  it  saddened  her  to  feel  that,  though  Madeleine 
might  not  mention  it  again,  the  thought  of  that 
strange,  untroubled  repose  would  still  dwell  in  her 
mind. 

Marie  had  feared  the  effects  of  the  winter  for  her 
friend,  but  to  her  great  joy  Madeleine  did  not  seem 
to  suffer  from  the  cold,  and,  on  the  contrary,  appeared 


MADELEINE.  261 


rather  better  by  the  return  of  spring.  Her  labor  was 
not  lessened,  however,  for  during  the  severe  winter 
months  many  new  inmates  had  been  admitted  into 
the  hospital ;  but  Providence  seemed  indeed  to  watch 
over  Madeleine,  and,  though  her  large  family  still 
went  on  increasing,  none  of  its  members  ever  wanted 
their  daily  bread. 

"  So  you  see,  sir,"  she  could  not  help  observing 
with  a  smile  to  M.  Dubois,  "  that  when  God  fills  a 
house  he  also  provides  for  it," 

"  Yes,  Madeleine,"  replied  the  mayor,  "  but  you 
have  made  heavy  sacrifices :  you  have  sold  the  little 
land  you  possessed,  without  speaking  of  your  house. 
By-the-by,  do  you  know  that  it  has  proved  a  sad  bar- 
gain for  me ;  no  tenants  will  remain  in  it,  it  is  so 
lonely.     I  wish  you  would  take  it  back  again." 

"  No,  I  cannot  do  that,"  replied  Madeleine,  "  but  I 
can  rent  it  from  you  for  a  year  or  two." 

"You  !  rent  it  I"  exclaimed  M.  Dubois,  much  sur- 
prised. 

"  Yes,"  quietly  answered  Madeleine,  "  though 
others  may  find  it  lonely,  it  is  there  I  should  like  to 
live." 

"  Then  you  intend  leaving  the  hospital  ?" 
"  ITay,  not  entirely ;  but  my  health  is  not  good, 
and  I  often  long  for  repose  and  solitude." 

"  And  so  you  want  to  go  back  there  ?  Well,  Mad- 
eleine, as  you  like  ;  but  it  is  a  strange  fancy." 

"  I  know  what  you  think,  M.  Dubois,  that  it  is 
extravagant  in  me  to  pay  liouse-rent  when  I  can  bo 
lodged  here  for  nothing.  But  it  is  not  high,  and  the 
produce  of  the  garden,  with  what  I  can  earn  by  spin- 
ning, will    cover   it ;   besides,  I  shall    only  take   it 


262  MADELEINE, 


at  midsummer,  and  I  feel  tliat  I  shall  not  keep  it 
long." 

"E'ay,  Madeleine,  I  was  not  thinking  of  that,  for 
surelj  if  it  is  your  fancy  you  have  a  right  to  indulge 
yourself  in  it.     But  indeed  it  is  a  strange  wish." 

"  AYe  all  love  some  spot  more  than  any  other,"  re- 
plied Madeleine,  "  and  my  heart  clings  to  this.  There 
was  a  time  when  I  should  have  wished  it  to  be  mine 
own,  but  now  I  am  satisfied  to  live  in  it,  even  though 
it  is  another's  property;  for  vrould  it  not  become 
such  in  a  few  years,  perhaps  even  less,  though  it 
were  mine  now  !"  she  added,  with  a  mournful  smile, 
which  M.  Dubois  vainly  strove  to  understand. 

When  a  few  days  afterwards  he  repeated  the  sub- 
stance of  this  conversation  to  Marie  Michon,  with  the 
agreement  by  which  it  had  been  followed,  the  poor 
girl  wept  bitterly ;  but  when  he  pressed  her  to  ex- 
plain the  meaning  of  her  tears,  and  of  Madeleine's 
discourse,  she  only  shook  her  head  with  deep  melan- 
choly. 

"  How  very  strange  !"  thought  M.  Dubois  ;  "  can 
unv  thino-  be  the  matter  with  Madeleine  ?  She  looks 
rather  paler  than  formerly ;  but  surely  if  she  were 
really  unwell  she  would  not  go  to  live  in  that  lonely 
place.  I  suppose  Marie  is  only  grieved  at  the  thought 
of  losins:  her." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


The  hospital  of  Mont-Saint-Jean  was  now  in  a  thri- 
ving condition :  "  My  task  is  done,"  often  said  Mad- 
eleine to  Marie,  who  never  heard  her  say  so  without 


MADELEINE.  26 


Q 


heaving  a  sigh,  for  it  seemed  as  if  the  consciousness 
that  her  services  were  no  lono-er  needed — that  she 
had  fulfilled  her  appointed  duty  to  the  end — lessened 
Madeleine's  remaining  strength,  and  rendered  her 
weaker  every  day.  It  was  indeed  impossible  to  be- 
hold her  now  without  feeling  how  much  she  was  al- 
tered ;  her  features  were  still  mild  and  serene,  but 
their  hue  had  become  pale  and  sickly  ;  her  step  had 
lost  its  former  elasticity,  and  the  general  languor  and 
debility  of  her  appearance  told  of  the  disease  which 
was  preying  within. 

Though  Madeleine  did  not  complain,  it  was  evi- 
dent to  all  that  her  health  was  very  much  impaired. 
The  general  impression  was  that  she  had  injured 
herself  by  over-exertions  in  the  cause  of  the  hospital 
of  Mont-Saint-Jean ;  indeed.  Doctor  Detrimont  said 
so,  and  the  evident  anxiety  with  which  he  watched 
over  her  in  her  declining  state  caused  many  to  fear 
for  her  life.  These  apprehensions  created  deep  sor- 
row, for  Madeleine  was  universally  beloved ;  but  of 
this,  as  well  as  of  her  precarious  condition,  she 
seemed  unconscious.  Though  her  increasing  Aveak- 
ness  produced  in  her  a  natural  distaste  for  the  active 
life  she  had  led  hitherto,  and  made  her  seek  quiet- 
ness and  repose,  her  cheerfulness  was  greater  than 
it  had  ever  been.  When  she  was  asked  the  cause  oi 
this,  she  answered,  with  a  smile,  that  the  hospital 
being  now  established,  and  in  a  prosperous  state,  she 
could  banish  care  from  her  mind  :  "  So  you  see,"  she 
would  add,  "  that  I  have  now  nothing  to  do  save  to 
be  happy  and  quiet  for  the  rest  of  my  life." 

But  when  she  spoke  thus,  people  became  sad,  and, 
exchanging  significant  looks,  shook  their  heads,  as 


264  MADELEINE 


much  as  to  imply  that  Madeleine  had  not,  perhaps, 
so  long  to  live  as  she  might  think. 

One  morning,  towards  the  end  of  spring,  when 
M.  Detrimont  called  n]3on  Madeleine,  in  passing 
through  the  village,  he  was  somewhat  surprised  to 
hear  her  asking  him,  with  unusual  gravity,  to  grant 
her  a  private  interview ;  he  assented,  and  she  led 
the  way  to  a  little  back  room  overlooking  the  garden 
where  they  were  in  no  fear  of  being  disturbed.  When 
they  were  seated,  Madeleine  turned  towards  M.  De- 
trimont,  and  calmly  said  : 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  one  question,  sir:  how  long  do 
you  think  I  have  still  to  live  ?" 

"  Madeleine  !"  exclaimed  the  doctor. 

She  read  his  meaning  in  his  look,  Ijut  sadly  shook 
her  head. 

"  Tell  me  not,"  she  said,  "  that  I  have  still  many 
years  to  live  ;  I  feel  that  my  days  are  numbered  :  all 
I  want  to  know  is,  the  time  I  have  yet  to  spend  upon 
earth  ?" 

M.  Detrimont  looked  at  Madeleine  long  and  fixedly ; 
she  was  as  calm  and  serene  as  thouo;h  her  own  fate 
were  not  the  object  of  her  questioning. 

"  Madeleine,"  said  he  at  length,  "  why  do  you  ask 
me  this  ? " 

"  Because  I  wish  to  be  prepared  for  death  when  it 
docs  come,"  she  gravely  replied.  "  Do  not  deceive 
ine,  for  I  know  you  cannot  tell  me  my  illness  is  not 
fatal.  I  have  felt  it  here  too  long,"  and  she  laid  her 
hand  upon  her  heart,  "  not  to  be  aware  that  there  is 
no  cure." 

M.  Detrimont  could  not  indeed  contradict  this,  he 
therefore  remained  silent ;  she  repeated  her  question. 


MADELEINE.  265 


"  Madeleine,"  said  the  doctor,  after  another  long 
pause,  "  I  know  that  I  am  not  speaking  to  an  ordi- 
nary woman,  and  that  you  will  neither  faint  nor  go 
into  fits  if  I  tell  you  the  truth ;  I  will  therefore  ac- 
knowledge that  your  disease  is  one  of  the  heart  in 
its  last  stage ;  I  have  long  watched  over  you,  but 
there  is  no  cure." 

Madeleine  was  not  above  humanity,  and  as  she 
heard  the  doctor's  sentence,  her  cheek  grew  pale  and 
her  lips  quivered  slightly,  but  these  signs  of  emotion 
soon  passed  away  from  her  features,  and  left  them 
as  calm  as  before.  M.  Detrimont,  who  watched  her 
narrowly,  read  every  one  of  her  feelings  on  her  in- 
genuous countenance :  he  saw  that  the  natural  dread 
of  death,  implanted  in  every  human  being,  had  first 
prevailed,  but  had  soon  been  conquered  by  that  pure 
and  holy  faith  which  characterized  her ;  and  he  se- 
cretly admired  her  more  for  this  transient  weakness, 
and  the  subsequent  victory,  than  he  could  have  done 
for  the  most  stoical  fortitude. 

"  But  how  long  do  you  think  I  may  live  ?"  again 
asked  Madeleine,  after  remaining  silent  for  a  few 
minutes. 

"  I  think  that  with  care  your  life  might  be  pro- 
longed for  more  than  a  year." 

"  What !  so  long  as  that  ?"  said  Madeleine,  with  a 
melancholy  smile. 

"  Yes,  Madeleine,  but  mind  that  I  said — with  care," 
urged  the  doctor,  desirous  of  impressing  this  condi- 
tion on  her  mind. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  understand,"  replied  Madeleine,  "  I 
shall  take  every  necessary  precaution ;  for,  God  for- 
bid that  the  sin  of  my  own  death  should  rest  on  my 

12 


266  MADELEINE. 


soul !  but  may  not  an  accident  occur  by  wliicli  I  may 
be  deprived  of  life  before  that  time  ?" 

"  Assm-edly,"  said  the  doctor,  "  it  is  possible,  but 
I  cannot  foretell  this." 

"  Sir,"  resumed  Madeleine,  "  I  should  like,  with 
God's  will,  to  know  the  hour  of  my  own  death,  for, 
though  I  have  no  grievous  sin  on  my  soul,  still  I 
think  it  is  well  to  be  prepared  for  such  an  awful 
change.  Though  you  cannot  foretell  when  it  will 
occur,  you  can  perhaps  describe  to  me  the  symptoms 
by  which  it  will  be  preceded,  and  this  I  should  wish 
you,  if  you  have  leisure,  to  do  now." 

This  was  certainly  a  strange  request,  yet  Madeleine 
made  it  with  perfect  simplicity  and  truth.  M.  Detri- 
mont  understood  her  character  thoroughly  ;  he  knew 
that  she  had  never  undertaken  a  task  to  which  she 
was  not  equal,  and  that  if  she  now  asked  him  to 
speak  to  her  openly  on  this  subject  it  was  because 
she  could  bear  to  hear  the  truth,  however  painful  it 
might  have  proved  to  an  ordinary  mind.  lie  there- 
fore complied  with  her  request,  and  proceeded  to 
explain  to  her  the  nature  of  the  disease  with  which 
she  was  afflicted,  as  well  as  the  symptoms  by  which  a 
crisis  was  likely  to  manifest  itself.  Though  M.  De- 
trimont  loved  Madeleine,  he  w^as  a  medical  man,  and 
rather  apt  to  view  his  patients  as  objects  of  scientific 
demonstration;  on  this  occasion  he  soon  forgot  to 
whom  he  was  speaking,  and  entered  with  anatomical 
precision  into  all  the  details  concerning  the  functions 
of  the  heart,  the  manner  in  which  ossification  took 
place,  the  remedies  which  he  had  employed  in  her 
case,  and  their  inefficacy.  Madeleine  listened  to  him 
with  deep  attention,  occasionally  asked  him  to  explain 


MADELEINE,  2G7 


Bome  j)oint  which  she  could  not  understand,  and 
dwelt  especially  on  those  signs  which,  according  to 
his  explanation,  announced  the  approach  of  death, 
thoucch  he  warned  her  at  the  same  time  that  she 
should  not  trust  too  much  to  them,  as  they  were  apt 
to  be  exceedingly  uncertain. 

"  Ah !  Madeleine !"  said  he,  when  he  had  con- 
cluded, and  his  mind  ouce  more  reverted  to  her, 
"  How  often  did  I  tell  you  that  you  were  killing  your- 
self!  you  see  it  now." 

Madeleine  seemed  so  much  distressed,  on  hearing 
this,  that  the  kind-hearted  doctor  immediately  re- 
pented having  uttered  the  words. 

"  Sir,"  said  she,  "  what  you  tell  me  gives  me  much 
pain,  for  I  think  it  a  great  sin  to  shorten  our  own 
life.  But,  what  could  I  do  ?  You  know  how  much 
Mont-Saint-Jean  wanted  a  hospital,  and  how  many 
poor  creatures  died  every  year  because  there  was  not 
one.  I  did  all  that  I  could  not  to  over-exert  myself, 
but,  when  you  remonstrated  with  me  on  the  subject, 
I  asked  myself  whether  it  was  not  better  that  one 
life  should  be  risked  for  the  good  of  all,  than  that  I 
should  spare  my  health,  and  thus  delay  the  erection 
of  the  hospital  for  many  years.  But  are  you  sure, 
sir,  that  even  were  it  not  for  this  I  should  have  lived 
long  ?" 

"  I  believe,  Madeleine,  that  the  seeds  of  this  dis- 
ease have  been  in  you  for  several  years,  but  I  know 
that  your  life  could  have  been  prolonged  for  a  great 
space  of  time  in  comparison  with  that  allotted  to  it 
now.     This  is  all  I  can  say  for  your  comfort." 

Madeleine  sighed,  and  seemed  disturbed.     "  Tlie 


will  of  God  be  done !"  she  at  length  observed  :  "  what 


268  MADELEINE. 


is  passed  cannot  be  recalled.  I  acted  for  the  best, 
for  indeed  I  did  not  wish  to  die,  and,  if  it  were  the 
will  of  heaven,  I  would  willingly  live.  But  it  would 
be  both  useless  and  sinful  to  repine  now.  And  why 
should  I  repine  ?  How  often  have  I  asked  of  heaven 
to  live  only  to  see  the  hospital  of  Mont-Saint- Jean, 
and  then  die  in  peace  !  My  prayer  has  been  granted, 
and  I  am  indeed  happy  !" 

There  was  so  much  truthful  fervor  in  her  tone  as 
she  spoke  thus,  that  the  doctor  felt  the  words  had 
been  uttered  from  her  heart.  He  gazed  upon  her, 
with  a  look  in  which  sorrow  and  admiration  were 
equally  blended,  and  sighed,  as  he  observed, 

"  You  are  a  noble  being,  Madeleine  ;  it  is  a  pity 
such  should  die." 

A  flush  came  over  Madeleine's  pale  features,  and 
she  smiled  for  a  moment,  but,  without  making  any 
reply  to  M.  Detrimont's  remark,  she  calmly  said :  "  I 
have  yet  another  request  to  make:  it  is,  that  you 
will  not  repeat  to  any  one  the  subject  of  our  present 
discourse,  nor  even  reveal  how  soon  my  end  may  be. 
You  know,  sir,"  she  continued,  with  a  melancholy 
smile,  "  that  there  are  many  people  who  love  me  in 
Mont-Saint- Jean ;  if  they  thought  I  had  only  a  short 
time  to  live  they  would  take  such  care  of  me  that 
my  life  would  certainly  be  shortened.  I  wish  to  die 
my  own  way.  Mine  has  been  a  troubled  life  for  the 
last  few  years  ;  whilst  I  had  my  end  in  view  I  did 
not  mind  this,  but  now  that  my  task  is  done  my  heart 
yearns  for  rest  and  solitude.  I  am,  besides,  growing 
weaker  every  day,  and  therefore  less  fitted  for  my 
duties  here  ;  I  feel  that  I  must  return  to  my  old  home 
by  the  churchyard." 


MADELEINE.  269 


"  Madeleine  !"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  in  a  tone  of 
disapprobation.  But,  though  Madeleine  understood 
his  meaning,  she  shook  her  head. 

"ISTay,  sir,  I  must  do  as  I  have  said,  for  my  heart 
is  bent  upon  this  plan.  I  am  aware,  however,  that  I 
shall  meet  with  oj)position,  and  if  it  is  known  how  ill 
I  am,  it  will  be  still  worse  ;  this  is  why  I  want  you 
not  to  say  to  others  what  you  have  said  to  me  to-day ; 
that,  since  nothing  can  restore  me  to  life,  I  may  at 
least  be  allowed  to  die  in  peace :  so  pray  promise  mo 
this." 

For  a  long  time  M.  Detrimont  refused,  but  Made- 
leine was  earnest  in  her  entreaties  ;  she  told  him 
that  she  could  take  better  care  of  herself  than  even 
her  best  friends,  now  that  she  imderstood  her  own 
illness  ;  that  she  did  not  mean  to  be  constantly  alone, 
but  to  have  Lise  with  her  occasionally,  and  to  pay 
frequent  visits  to  the  hospital.  The  doctor  saw  that, 
as  she  had  said,  her  mind  was  indeed  bent  Tipon  this 
plan ;  and  reflecting  that  to  thwart  her  could  only 
give  her  pain,  without  inducing  her  to  change  her  re- 
solve, he  at  last  gave  the  required  promise,  reserving 


to  himself  the  right  of  infringing  it  whenever  he 
should  think  fit. 

"When  Madeleine  had  succeeded  in  obtaining  this 
from  him  they  parted,  for  she  feared  that  too  long 
a  conference  might  excite  the  suspicions  of  Marie. 
She  looked  as  composed  as  nsual  in  bidding  the  doc- 
tor farewell,  but  as  he  left  her  there  was  a  shade  of 
sadness  on  her  brow. 

"When  Madeleine  was  alone,  she  looked  out  thought- 
fully from  the  open  window  near  w^iich  she  happened 
to  be  standing.     It  was  a  lovely  summer  morning ; 


270  MADELEINE. 

deep,  cool-looking  shadows  still  lingered  in  the  dis- 
tant valleys,  whilst  the  hills  lay  bathed  in  a  flood  oi 
glorious  sunshine ;  the  sky  had  that  deep  azure  blue 
which  belongs  to  summer  alone  ;  the  earth  looked 
green  and  lovely  ;  the  atmosphere  was  so  clear  and 
still  that  the  faintest  of  those  low  sounds,  which  may 
be  called  the  voice  of  nature,  rose  distinctly  on  the 
ear  of  Madeleine :  she  looked  again ;  her  eyes  grew 
dim  with  tears,  and  her  heart  was  full  of  sadness. 
How  long  had  she  still  to  live  ?  The  doctor  had  said 
a  year  :  then  she  began  to  count  how  many  days  she 
had  to  dwell  upon  earth,  how  often  yet  she  might 
gaze  on  the  fair  scene  before  her !  Summer  would 
come  round  again,  she  knew ;  but  when  it  came, 
where  should  she  be  ?  Faith  answered,  at  peace  and 
in  happiness,  but  the  flesh  said  that  earth  was  beau- 
tiful, and  that  she  was  young,  very  young  to  die. 
Why  was  her  life  to  be  so  brief?  Those  hills,  those 
trees  and  streams  would  still  endure  for  many  years 
after  she  was  gone  ;  they  lived — but  she — the  nobler 
being — must  die.  And  again  she  inwardly  exclaim- 
ed, "  Why  must  my  days  be  so  few  ?"  She  bowed 
her  head  and  clasped  her  hands :  there  was  a  deep 
conflict  at  her  heart ;  could  she  have  hoped,  she 
would  have  said,  "  Oh !  Father,  take  this  cup  from 
me !"  but  her  fate  was  fixed,  and  she  knew  it.  She 
looked  once  more  :  how  her  heart  now  clung  to  every 
thing  that  was  beautiful  in  nature,  and  how  fondly 
her  glance  lingered  over  the  loveliness  to  which  she 
inwardly  bade  farewell !  But  this  struggle  could  not 
last.  ISfotwithstanding  her  passing  regret  of  life, 
Madeleine  had  long  been  resigned  to  her  approach- 
ing end ;  her  sorrow  gradually  grew  less  :  she  re- 


MADELEINE.  2TJ 


inerabered  that  earth,  though  lovely,  was,  like  herself, 
perishable  ;  and  then  she  thought  of  the  brevity  of 
every  human  life.  Since  the  end  of  all  was  death, 
what  mattered  it  whether  she  lived  a  few  years 
more  or  less  ?  and,  in  her  altered  mood,  Madeleine 
now  almost  smiled  at  the  vanity  of  her  unavailing- 
regrets. 

During  the  whole  of  the  week  that  followed  her 
interview  with  the  doctor,  Madeleine's  behavior 
underwent  no  perceptible  change ;  still  a  vague  sense 
of  uneasiness  was  on  Marie  Michon's  mind ;  she 
noticed  that  her  friend  was  more  than  usually  scru- 
pulous in  superintending  the  arrangements  of  the 
household,  that  she  looked  over  all  the  linen,  and 
took  an  inventory  of  it ;  the  different  medicines  were 
likewise  arranged  by  her  in  the  medicine  chest,  and 
she  saw  that  the  infirmary  was  supplied  with  what- 
ever it  wanted ;  in  short,  she  seemed  so  anxious  for 
every  thing  to  be  in  its  proper  state,  that  Marie,  aftei 
uneasily  watching  her  proceedings  for  several  days, 
could  not  at  length  help  observing : 

"Why,  Madeleine,  what  is  the  matter  with  you? 
One  might  think  that  you  were  going  to  take  some 
long  and  weary  journey." 

The  smile  which  crossed  Madeleine's  features  on 
hearing  this  was  so  sad,  and  yet  so  sweet,  that  Mario 
did  not  dare  to  ask  her  for  any  explanation,  but  fell 
into  a  deep  fit  of  musing. 

The  next  morning,  which  happened  to  be  a  Sunday, 
Madeleine,  after  breakfasting  as  usual  with  those 
members  of  her  family  who  were  either  convalescent 
or  in  their  usual  state  of  health,  addressed  them  thus : 

"Children,  we  have  now  been  together  for  seveial 


272  MADELEINE. 


years.  Since  the  hospital  of  Mont-Saint-Jean  has 
been  in  existence,  I  have,  according  to  your  wish, 
administered  it;  I  hope,  and  I  believe,  that  I  have 
done  my  duty.  If  it  were, God's  will  I  would  gladly 
remain  with  you,  but  my  health  is,  as  you  know,  very 
much  impaired ;  and,  though  I  have  long  delayed 
this  moment,  I  feel  that  the  time  is  now  come  when 
we  must  part." 

A  general  exclamation  of  sorrow  and  remonstrance 
followed  these  words.  But  Madeleine  gently  said, 
"Believe  me,  I  have  not  done  this  without  thinking 
maturely  on  the  subject.  You  may  give  me  pain  by 
pressing  me  to  remain  with  you,  but  it  is  impossible  ; 
I  must  go." 

"But  why  must  yon  go?"  urged  Marie,  who  was 
weeping  bitterly. 

"I  am  not  going  yet,"  said  Madeleine,  without 
giving  her  a  direct  answer;  "but  listen  to  me,  for  I 
have  more  to  say.  As  I  am  no  longer  able  to  act  for 
you  as  I  have  done  hitherto,  some  other  person  must 
take  my  place.  I  do  not  think  any  one  so  well  fitted 
for  the  task  as  Marie  Michon,  w^ho  knows  you  all,  and 
has  long  been  accustomed  with  me  to  see  to  your 
wants.  If  you  think  so  too,  say  so,  and  the  matter 
can  be  settled  now." 

But,  contrary  to  Madeleine's  expectation,  no  one 
replied. 

"Do  you  then  object  to  Marie?"  she  asked,  with 
evident  surprise. 

"  ISTo,  Madeleine,  we  do  not,"  answered  one  of  the 
old  women  present,  "  but  we  want  you  to  stay  with 
us." 

"  Alas,"  sadly  said  Madeleine,  "  why  do  you  ask 


MADELEINE.  273 


this  of  me?  You  only  grieve  me;  but  indeed  it 
cannot  be." 

"  ISTaj,"  said  Marie  earnestly,  "  do  not  refuse  us, 
Madeleine  ;  if  you  are  we^^v  and  ill  we  will  take  care 
of  you ;  you  need  only  tell  me  what  I  must  do,  and  it 
shall  be  done  without  any  trouble  to  you." 

"I  cannot  and  will  not  consent  to  this,"  firmly 
said  Madeleine  ;  "  urge  me  no  more,  Marie." 

She  resisted  with  equal  firmness  all  the  entreaties 
of  those  present,  though  they  were  renewed  with 
importunate  earnestness  for  nearly  a  quarter  of  an 
hour.  Marie,  who  saw  that,  though  she  was  resolved 
not  to  yield,  the  scene  was  becoming  painful  to  Made- 
leine's feelings,  now  interfered,  by  observing,  in  a 
tone  of  reproach : 

"  Nay,  leaze  her  no  more,  she  is  bent  on  making 
us  miserable,  and  any  one  knows  that  what  Made- 
leine Guerin  has  determined  to  do  must  be  done." 

Without  taking  any  heed  of  the  apparent  unkind- 
ness  contained  in  this  remark,  Madeleine  calmly 
said,  "Since  this  point  is  settled,  I  ask  you  once 
more  whether  you  think  Marie  Michon  is  the  person 
best  suited  to  supply  my  place  ?" 

This  time  Madeleine's  question  was  answered  by 
a  general  assent,  for,  next  to  her,  Marie  was  greatly 
beloved. 

"Then,"  said  she,  looking  kindly  on  her  friend, 
"  let  it  be  so ;  we  will  consult  M.  Dubois  and  M. 
Bisrnon  to-morrow,  and  determine  on  the  matter. 
And  now,"  she  continued,  after  a  brief  pause,  "since 
I  am  going  to  resign  the  care  I  had  of  you  into  other 
hands,  I  think  it  right  to  bid  you  all  farewell :  do  not 
misunderstand  me,"  she  quickly  added,  "  I  am  not 

12-^ 


2  74  MADELEINE. 

leaving  Mont-Saint- Jean,  and  I  trust  that  we  shall 
often  meet  again,  yet,  as  we  are  going  to  part,  I  feel 
the  want  of  asking  you  to  forgive  me  whatever  I  may 
have  unwittingly  done  to^iurt  or  injure  you.  Tell 
me  not  I  have  done  nothing;  perhaps  it  was  not 
much — some  hasty  word  or  look  which  you  soon 
forgot — but  during  several  years  there  must  have 
been  something  for  you  to  forgive." 

It  was  in  vain  for  those  present  to  remonstrate. 
Madeleine  insisted,  and  as  usual  won  her  point ;  even 
Marie  was  forced  to  forgive  her  like  the  rest.  When 
they  had  all  complied,  Madeleine  looked  kindly  on 
her  children,  and  in  a  low  and  gentle  tone  observed, 
"As  you  have  forgiven  me,  so  do  I  forgive  you  what- 
ever you  may  have  done  to  grieve  me,  though  I  now 
remember  nothing ;  I  shall,  moreover,  pray  for  you 
as  long  as  I  live,  and,  whenever  it  pleases  God  to  re- 
move me  from  this  world,  remember  how  I  loved  you 
all,  and  pray  for  the  peace  and  repose  of  my  soul. 
Farewell !" 

Madeleine's  last  words  were  rendered  almost  inau- 
dil)le  by  the  tears  and  lamentations  of  those  j)resent, 
for,  as  she  spoke  of  death,  and  asked  them  to  pray  for 
her,  her  voice  had  imconsciously  taken  a  solemn  tone, 
as  though  her  end  were  at  hand. 

"Why  do  you  weep?"  she  asked,  with  a  look  of 
surprise,  "  though  I  spoke  of  death,  I  do  not  think  1 
am  going  to  die  very  soon.  But,  if  I  were,  is  not 
death  the  fate  of  every  thing  mortal  ?  and  surely  you 
never  thought  I  should  be  spared.  "Weep  not,  there- 
fore, but  rejoice,  for,  after  what  has  passed,  after  feel- 
ing that  I  have  done  my  duty  to  the  end,  and  fulfilled 
my  a2:)pointed  task,  I  am  happier  than  I  have  ever 


MADELEINE.  275 


yet  been,  excepting,  perhaps,  on  the  day  when  we  all 
entered  the  hospital  of  Mont-Saint-Jean  for  the  lirst 
time.  Weep  not,  therefore,  I  say  again,  but,  if  you 
love  me,  rejoice ;  for  indeed  there  is  peace  in  my  soul." 

Many,  however,  still  wept  silently,  for  they  saw  by 
Madeleine's  manner  that  she  knew  of  her  approach- 
ing end,  and  they  began  to  fear  it  was  nearer  still  than 
they  had  thought.  In  a  calm  and  cheerful  tone,  Mad- 
eleine endeavored  to  comfort  them,  and,  reminding 
them  that  it  was  time  to  go  to  mass,  was  the  first  to 
give  them  the  example  of  preparing.  On  returning 
to  the  room  shortly  afterwards,  she  was  surprised  to 
see  Lise  sitting  in  it  alone  and  weeping. 

"  What  ails  thee,  Lise  ?"  she  hastily  asked,  draw- 
ing near  her. 

"Oh!  Madeleine,"  passionatel}''  exclaimed  the 
child,  sobbing  bitterly,  as  she  clasped  her  arms 
around  her  neck,  "  you  arc  going  away,  and  I  shall 
never  see  you  again." 

Madeleine  sat  down  near  her,  and  embraced  her 
tenderly  :  "  Weep  not,  child,"  she  gently  said,  "  thou 
shalt  come  with  me  wherever  I  go,  if  such  is  thy 
wish." 

Lise  dried  her  tears,  and  smiled,  as  she  looked  up 
into  the  face  of  her  adopted  mother.  "  Then  you 
will  never  leave  me  or  go  away  from  mc  ?"  she  asked, 
with  a  searching  glance. 

Madeleine  was  smoothing  the  child's  dark  liair,  and 
looking  on  her  with  a  fond  smile,  but  when  she  heard 
her  question,  she  turned  her  face  away  that  Lise 
might  not  see  the  tears  which  rose  to  her  eyes.  If 
there  was  a  being  on  earth  whom  she  loved  it  was 
her  ;  she  loved  Marie,  too,  but  with  a  different  affec- 


276  MADELEINE. 

tion ;  Lise,  whom  she  had  rescued  from  the  grave, 
was  as  her  own  child,  and  her  heart  yearned  towards 
her  like  that  of  a  mother.  How  bitter  now  seemed 
the  prospect  of  parting  from  her  forever !  But  Mad- 
eleine soon  checked  the  repining  thought,  and,  turn- 
ing towards  her,  calmly  said,  "I  will  not  leave  thee, 
child,  as  long  as  I  live." 

This  promise  was  enough  for  Lise,  who  soon  re- 
gained all  her  spirits. 

Madeleine's  behavior  during  the  remainder  of  the 
day  was  so  cheerful  and  serene,  that,  if  the  inhabit- 
ants of  the  hospital  could  have  forgotten  her  farewell 
in  the  morning,  they  might  have  fancied  she  had  still 
many  years  to  live.  Never  had  the  tones  of  her  voice 
been  more  kind  and  gentle,  and  never  had  the  calm, 
spiritual  light  in  her  eyes  revealed  so  plainly  the  love 
and  holy  peace  of  the  soul  within. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

Aftek  a  brief  consultation  with  M.  Bignon  and  the 
mayor  on  the  following  day,  the  choice  which  Made- 
leine had  made  of  Marie  to  succeed  her  in  the  admin- 
istration of  the  hospital  was  fully  confirmed,  and  she 
immediately  entered  on  the  duties  of  her  oflfice. 
Nothing  was  changed  in  the  establishment  by  this, 
for  Marie  scrupulously  observed  all  the  regulations 
instituted  by  her  friend,  whose  prudence  and  wisdom 
were,  in  her  opinion,  unimpeachable.  For  a  few  days 
Madeleine  did  not  speak  of  leaving,  but  at  the  end  of 
a  week  she  informed  Marie  that  she  was  going  to 
return  to  the  house  by  the  churchyard,  where  she 


MADELEINE.  277 


accordingly  caused  a  few  articles  of  furniture  to  be 
transferred. 

Marie  wept  on  hearing  this,  and  remonstrated ;  but 
Madeleine  persisted  in  her  purpose.  She  agreed, 
however,  to  return  occasionally  to  the  hospital,  and 
consented  that  her  room  in  it  should  be  kept  for  her. 

"  Why  are  you  sad,  Marie  ?"  she  said  to  her 
friend,  "  you  know  that  I  can  be  happy  thongh  alone, 
and  that  I  love  the  old  place  ;  let  me,  therefore,  go  in 
peace ;  the  repose  and  solitude  will  do  my  heart  good." 

"  Since  you  have  so  resolved,  Madeleine,  let  it  be,'^ 
sadly  replied  Marie. 

As  Madeleine  did  not  wish  to  give  any  particular 
solemnity  to  her  departure,  she  went  away  quietly 
the  same  day  with  Lise,  and  without  bidding  any 
one  farewell.  "When  it  was  known  in  the  hospital 
that  she  was  actually  gone,  sorrow  and  consternation 
filled  every  mind ;  all  felt,  they  said,  as  though  she 
were  lost  to  them  forever ;  and  this  melancholy  im- 
pression seemed  shared  by  the  inhabitants  of  Mont- 
Saint-Jean.  In  a  few  days,  however,  Madeleine  re- 
turned, looking  as  calm  and  cheerful  as  though  no 
separation  had  taken  place.  Her  frame  of  mind  ap- 
peared to  be  communicative ;  the  sense  of  grief  which 
had  followed  her  departure  gradually  became  less ; 
her  children  saw  that,  though  her  home  might  be 
changed,  Madeleine's  heart  was  still  with  them. 
After  spending  a  week  in  the  hospital,  she  went  back 
to  her  house  by  the  churchyard,  and  left  Lise  behind 
her ;  for,  fearing  that  the  solitude  of  her  new  abode 
might  be  prejudicial  to  the  child's  health,  she  induced 
her  to  stay  in  the  village  for  a  while.  On  the  follow- 
ing Sunday  Madeleine  assisted  at  mass  and  vespers  ; 


278  MADELEINE. 


and  as  she  then  seemed  in  her  nsual  state  of  health, 
the  apprehensions  ^yhich  had  been  conceived  at  first 
were  now  partly  allayed. 

Madeleine's  mode  of  life  thns  gradually  became 
as  quiet  and  retired,  and  in  every  respect  almost  the 
same,  as  when  it  was  described  in  the  opening  of 
this  work.  Kothing  was  altered  in  the  cottage  and 
its  environs ;  the  garden,  the  quiet  churchyard,  the 
mountain  stream,  all  looked  as  of  yore ;  and,  when 
Madeleine  was  once  more  seen  sitting  at  her  door 
and  spinning  in  the  sunshine,  it  seemed  so  natural 
for  her  to  be  there  again,  that  every  one  soon  grew 
accustomed  to  the  sight,  and  many  pronounced  her 
little  altered;  but  though  her  smile  was  as  sweet,  and 
her  greeting  as  kindly  as  ever,  her  low  song  was  no 
longer  heard,  and  when  she  spoke,  she  seemed  to 
experience  a  sense  of  fatigue,  which,  with  the  waxen 
and  sickly  hue  of  her  features,  told  another  tale.  The 
mind  soon  resumes  its  old  habits,  and  Madeleine  fell 
so  readily  into  the  routine  of  her  former  existence, 
that  it  might  have  been  thought  it  w^as  only  the  other 
day,  and  not  five  years  before,  that  she  had  left  her 
cottage  for  the  house  of  farmer  Nicolas.  She  spent 
her  days  almost  constantly  in  the  open  air  during  the 
fine  weather,  but  she  did  not  labor  quite  so  assidu- 
ously as  formerly ;  and,  whenever  she  felt  weary  of 
her  work,  she  took  uj)  her  prayer-book  and  read  for 
a  w^hile.  She  also  devoted  more  time  to  prayer ;  and 
many  of  those,  who  now  entered  her  cottage  towards 
evening,  found  her  kneeling  near  the  ojDen  window, 
gazing  on  the  starry  sky,  and  so  deeply  absorbed  in 
her  devotions,  that  she  neither  seemed  to  notice  their 
approach,  nor  to  hear  the  tones  of  their  voice.     This 


MADELEINE.  279 


want  of  consciousness  of  the  external  world  proceeded 
partly  from  the  debilitated  state  of  her  health,  but 
those  who  witnessed  its  effects  declared  that  Made- 
leine had  celestial  visions  and  ecstasies ;  a  report 
which  was  confirmed  by  the  growing  languor  and 
abstractedness  of  her  manner. 

Summer  and  autumn  thus  passed  away.  During 
all  this  time  Madeleine  had  not  lived  in  complete 
solitude ;  Lise  was  often  with  her,  M.  Detrimont  and 
the  cure  called  frequently,  and  whenever  Marie  could 
spare  a  moment  she  spent  it  with  her  friend,  who  like- 
wise received  occasional  visits  from  gloomy  Pierre,  as 
lie  continued  to  be  called,  though  much  of  his  misan- 
thropy had  left  him.  But  when  winter  came  on, 
Marie  insisted  that  Madeleine  should  remove  to  the 
hospital ;  and,  as  the  doctor  also  declared  this  was 
necessary,  she  complied  with  the  request.  It  was 
then  all  could  j^erceive  the  progress  which  disease 
had  made  in  her  frame.  Though  her  countenance 
was  little  altered,  she  had  grown  so  thin  and  emacia- 
ted, and  seemed  so  weak,  that  many  foretold  she 
would  not  outlive  the  winter.  Contrary,  however,  to 
ail  expectation,  she  rallied  gradually,  and,  when 
spring  returned,  was  so  much  improved  that  she  once 
more  went  to  reside  in  her  cottage  by  the  churchj'ard. 
She  was  here  visited  on  a  tine  morning  by  the  doctor, 
who  inquired  after  the  state  of  her  health,  observing, 
that  she  looked  better.  But  Madeleine  shook  her 
head,  and  said :  "  It  is  now  upwards  of  nine  months 
since  you  told  me  that  I  had  not  more  than  a  year  to 
spend  in  this  world.  More  than  the  one-half  of  that 
time  is  past;  but  I  know  that  I  sliall  never  see  the 
other." 


280  MADELEINE. 


"  How  can  you  know  that,  Madeleine  ?  I  do  not 
feel  BO  confident  on  this  subject,  and  yet  I  am  a 
medical  man." 

"I  feel  it  here,"  replied  Madeleine,  laying  her 
])and  upon  her  heart;  and  the  hectic  flush  which 
crossed  her  features  as  she  spoke,  made  M.  Detri- 
niont  fear  that  she  had  spoken  too  truly. 

"Madeleine,"  he  gravely  observed,  "beware  of 
imao-inina:  that  you  can  tell  or  foresee  the  hour  of 

^  ••11 

your  own  death,  for  the  mere  imagination  might  be 
enough  to  kill  you." 

"  I  do  not  seek  to  fix  a  day  known  only  to  God," 
calmly  replied  Madeleine  ;  "  but  when  I  feel  my 
strength  failing  me  more  every  day,  and  my  step 
getting  more  slow,  and  my  hand  less  steady,  I  also 
feel  that  the  time  draws  near." 

"  Then  why  stay  here,  Madeleine  ?  why  not  return 
to  the  hospital,  where  every  care  would  be  taken  of 
you  ?" 

"Nay,  sir,  I  am  happier  here,"  replied  Madeleine, 
"  and  here  I  wish  to  remain  as  long  as  I  can.  When 
the  time  comes  I  shall  leave." 

Madeleine,  indeed,  clung  to  her  old  home  with  a 
strange  and  lingering  afiection,  which  only  grew 
stronger  as  her  life  drew  to  its  close.  The  recollec- 
tions  of  love,  faith,  and  happiness  connected  with 
this  dwelling  of  her  youth  had  made  it  very  dear  to 
her  ;  but  this  was  not  her  only  reason  for  residing  in 
it  now.  As  long  as  it  had  been  necessary,  she  had 
willingly  sacrificed  her  love  of  a  quiet  life  to  the 
great  thought  of  her  soul,  but,  now  that  her  task  was 
done,  she  longed  once  more  for  the  silence  and 
repose  she  had  relinquished  for  a  time.     Madeleine's 


MADELEINE.  281 

disposition  was  not  unsociable,  but  the  secluded 
manner  in  which  her  youth  had  been  spent,  and  the 
natural  bent  of  her  mind,  prevented  her  from  taking- 
pleasure  in  the  chit-chat  gossip  of  which  conversation 
chiefly  consisted  in  Mont-Saint-Jean. 

It  is  true  that  she  loved  those  whom  she  had  for 
several  years  called  her  children,  and  to  whom  she 
still  gave  that  name,  but  she  loved  them  as  human 
beings,  as  creatures  of  God  more  than  as  individuals. 
Her  affection  for  Marie  Michon  and  Lise  was  more 
deep,  but  it  was  because  she  felt  it  to  be  so  that  she 
wished  to  wean  berself  from  it  now,  to  turn  her  heart 
to  heaven  without  one  earthly  alloy.  It  was  owing 
to  these  reasons  that  Madeleine  now  chiefly  sought 
the  companionship  of  youth,  and  preferred  it  to  the 
society  of  persons  of  maturer  age.  Even  in  the  de- 
cline of  her  life  she  still  felt  the  lons-iug  of  usefulness 
which  had  drawn  her  forth  from  her  solitude,  and  she 
was  seldom  seen  in  the  village  without  having  around 
her  a  group  of  children,  to  whom  she  taught  some 
simple  lesson,  or  whom  she  amused  with  a  childish 
story  or  legend. 

But  even  this  indulgence,  for  it  was  one  to  her,  had 
to  be  relinquished  by  Madeleine  in  consequence  ol 
her  weakened  state.  Although  she  never  complained, 
her  slow  decay  daily  became  more  apparent.  She 
still  sat  in  the  sunshine  on  the  step  of  her  door,  but 
her  wheel  was  wholly  neglected,  and  her  prayer-book 
seemed  her  constant  companion.  Lise  was  now 
almost  alwavs  with  her,  vet,  whenever  she  left  her 
in  order  to  return  to  Mont-Saint-Jean,  the  child  no- 
ticed that  Madeleine's  farewell  blessing  had  some- 
thing strange  and  solemn  in  it,  which  made  her  feel 


282  MADELEINE. 


uneasy,  slie  knew  not  "why.  Madeleine  now  also  took 
a  particular  pleasure  in  wandering  about  the  old 
churchyard  near  her  dwelling ;  sometimes  she  prayed 
near  her  father's  grave,  and,  when  she  felt  tired, 
rested  on  the  step  of  the  stone  cross  which  rose  in 
the  centre  of  the  place.  Marie  Michon,  calling  upon 
her  one  morning,  was  surprised  to  find  her  sitting 
there  and  reading. 

"  Why  do  you  come  here  to  read,  Madeleine  ?"  she 
uneasily  inquired. 

"It  is  a  pleasant  sj)ot,"  calmly  said  Madeleine, 
"  more  warm  and  sunny  than  the  door-step." 

Still  Marie  felt  troubled,  and  would  have  preferred 
to  see  her  in  any  other  place. 

About  this  time  there  happened  an  event  which  it 
was  feared  would  have  a  fatal  effect  on  the  health  and 
spirits  of  Madeleine  in  her  present  weak  condition ; 
this  was  the  death  of  Maurice,  whom  she  had  never 
seen  since  their  separation.  She  heard  the  tidings, 
however,  with  seeming  calmness,  and  merely  said, 
"  The  will  of  God  be  done !"  A  few  days  afterwards 
she  inquired  into  the  details  of  his  death,  and  seemed 
deeply  moved  on  hearing  of  Rosette's  grief.  She 
even  expressed  the  wish  of  going  to  see  her,  but,  as 
her  enfeebled  state  prevented  this,  she  relinquished  the 
idea.  Madeleine  now  became  so  weak  that  Marie 
insisted  that  she  should  remove  to  the  hospital,  but 
it  seemed  as  though  the  thought  of  being  obliged  to 
leave  her  homo  gave  her  new  strength,  for  she  sud- 
denly grew  better,  and  persisted  in  remaining,  to 
which  Marie  reluctantly  agreed. 

Lise  was  now  about  eleven  years  of  age,  and  an 
old  relation  of  hers,  who  lived  in  one  of  the  neigh 


MADELEINE.  28 


o 


boring  villages,  and  had  not  seen  her  for  a  long  time, 
requested  that  she  might  spend  a  few  days  with  her. 
Madeleine  immediately  acceded  to  her  request,  but 
when  the  time  came  to  part  from  her  adopted  daugh- 
ter she  vainly  endeavored  to  assume  a  cheerful  bear- 
ing. The  sadness  and  solemnity  of  her  farewell,  the 
numerous  recommendations  which  she  addressed  to 
her  on  her  future  conduct,  all  contributed  to  make 
Lise  believe  that  their  separation  was  to  be  of  a  much 
lono;er  duration  than  she  had  been  told. 

"Oh,  Madeleine,"  she  exclaimed,  bursting  into 
tears,  "  I  see  what  it  is ;  I  am  to  stay  at  my  aunt's, 
and  to  see  you  no  more !" 

"  Nay,  heaven  forbid !"  earnestly  ejaculated  Made- 
leine. "  That  is  to  say,"  she  added,  correcting  her- 
self, "  that  if  such  were  the  will  of  God  I  should  wish 
to  see  thee  again ;  but  thou  mayest  believe  me,  thou 
art  not  to  stay  more  than  a  week  at  thy  aunt's." 

"Then  I  shall  see  you  again,  dear  Madeleine?" 
said  the  child. 

"  Why  dost  thou  ask  this  ?" 

"Because  a  while  ago  you  spoke  as  though  we 
should  never  meet  again  ;  but  we  shall,  shall  we  not  ?" 

Madeleine  made  no  reply,  she  hung  down  her  head 
and  clasped  her  hands,  and  merely  said,  "  The  will 
of  God  be  done !" 

"What,  Madeleine!  shall  I  see  you  no  more?" 
imeasily  asked  Lise. 

Still  Madeleine  answered  not,  but  shook  her  head  ; 
the  child  earnestly  repeated  her  question. 

"  I  did  not  say  that,  child,"  at  length  said  Made- 
leine, "but  thou  hast  tarried  too  long — farewell !" 

Madeleine  stooped  to  embrace  her,  and  Lise  looked 


284  -  MADELEINE. 


anxiously  into  her  face,  as  thongh  to  read  her  mean 
ing  in  her  very  soul ;  but  Madeleine's  countenance, 
though  sad,  was  calm  and  serene,  and,  beyond  her 
usual  affection,  she  saw  nothing  there.  Still  Lise  went 
hesitatingly  away,  and,  as  she  followed  the  path 
which  led  to  Mont-Saint-Jean,  she  often  looked  be- 
jiind  her.  Madeleine  was  standing  on  the  threshold, 
gazing  after  her  with  a  sad  and  thoughtful  glance, 
for  she  remembered  how,  on  a  day  like  this,  and 
along  the  same  path,  Maurice  had  gone  away  forever. 

When  Marie  heard  that  Madeleine  was  alone,  she 
wanted  her  to  come  to  the  hospital,  but,  not  being 
able  to  induce  her  to  do  this,  she  declared  that  she 
would  come  to  see  her  every  day.  As  Madeleine 
knew  that  her  presence  was  not  then  very  much 
needed  at  the  hospital,  she  raised  no  .objection  to  this 
plan,  and  even  promised  Marie  that  she  would  soon 
live  with  her  entirely. 

"  Then  why  not  come  at  once  ?"  asked  her  friend. 

"  The  summer  days  are  so  pleasant  here,"  replied 
Madeleine  ;  "  I  will  go  when  autumn  comes  on." 

Marie  sighed,  but  did  not  urge  her  further. 

On  the  evening  of  the  fifth  day  of  Lise's  absence, 
as  Marie  was  on  the  point  of  returning  to  the  village, 
Madeleine,  who  seemed  much  better,  declared  that 
she  wanted  to  see  M.  Bignon,  and  would  accompany 
her.  Marie  was  astonished,  and  remonstrated  on  the 
fatigue  she  would  thus  undergo,  but  Madeleine  as- 
serted that  she  was  equal  to  the  task ;  and,  though 
the  way  was  rather  long  and  steep,  she  never  once 
complained  of  weariness,  and  even  said,  when  she 
reached  the  house  of  M.  Bignon,  that  the  walk  had 
done  her  good. 


MADELEINE.  28' 


Dame  Ursula  informed  her  that  her  master  was 
with,  one  of  the  vilhigers,  then  at  the  point  of  deatli. 
Madeleine  declared  her  intention  of  waiting  for  him, 
and  sat  down  in  the  honey-suckle  arbor,  near  the 
porch.  In.  about  half  an  hour,  M.  Bignon  appeared  ; 
he  looked  pale  and  sad. 

"Is  Antoine  dead  ?"  asked  Ursula. 

The  priest  made  an  affirmative  sign,  and  entered 
his  study,  where  he  sank  down  on  a  seat.  Madeleine 
followed  him,  but  remained  silent  until  the  house- 
keeper had  given  her  master  a  drink  and  retired. 
She  then  said : 

"  .Sir,  I  am  come  to  you  for  confession." 

Ursula  could  hear  distinctly,  from  the  next  room, 
the  exclamation  of  surprise  which  burst  from  M. 
Bignon's  lips. 

"  You  do  not  mean  to-night,  child,  do  you  ?  It  ih 
too  late." 

"  Yes,"  thoughtfully  replied  Madeleine,  "  it  is  late, 
yet  it  must  be  to-night.  That  is,"  she  meekly  added, 
"if  3'Ou  will,  as  I  trust,  hear  my  sins." 

"  Your  sins  !"  echoed  the  priest,  with  a  sigh,  "  ah ! 
child,  will  nothing  then  cure  you  of  speaking  about 
them  ?  What  are  they,  I  should  like  to  know,  when 
compared  to  those  of  certain  sinners  I  wot  of?" 

Madeleine  was  accustomed  to  hear  similar  re- 
marks from  M.  Bignon  ;  she  therefore  made  no  direct 
reply,  but  merely  said,  "  Can  you  hear  me,  sir  ?  the 
way  before  me  is  long,  and  I  must  spend  the  night 
in  vigil  and  prayer." 

"  Why,  Madeleine !"  impatiently  exclaimed  M. 
Bignon,  "what  grievous  fault  is  it  that  weighs  so 
heavily  on   your   soul  ?      I   trust,"  he   added   with 


286  MADELEINE 


assumed  severity,  "  you  are  not  in  a  state  of  morta' 


sin." 


"  I  trust  not,  sir." 

"  Then  what  do  you  want  nie  to  do  tor  you  ?" 

"To  hear  my  confession,"  answered  Madeleine's 
calm  voice. 

The  priest  groaned. 

"  Madeleine,  my  good  girl !"  said  he,  "  take  my 
advice  ;  go  to  the  hospital  and  sleep  instead  of 
watching." 

"  I  came  from  the  valley  for  this,  sir,"  observed 
Madeleine. 

"  Then  you  did  a  foolish  thing,"  almost  angrily 
remarked  M.  Bignon,  "  and  it  will  be  more  foolish 
still  to  go  back  again  to  the  valley  to-night,  weak  as 
you  are." 

"  Sir,"  solemnly  said  Madeleine,  "  it  was  no  idle 
fancy  that  led  me  hither  ;  in  the  name  of  heaven,  I 
conjure  you  to  hear  me  !" 

This  appeal  was  not  to  be  resisted  ;  and  Ursula, 
who  had  listened  to  this  brief  conversation  in  silent 
wonder,  now  heard  her  master  rise  and  close  the 
door,  as  though  to  comply  with  Madeleine's  request. 
In  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  door  opened  again, 
and  M.  Bignon  and  Madeleine  came  forth  ;  neither 
of  them  appeared  to  notice  Ursula,  who  was  sitting 
in  the  recess  of  the  window.  The  cure,  accompanied 
her  as  far  as  the  garden-gate,  and  Ursula  saw  that 
she  took  the  path  leading  to  the  valley.  She  could 
not  lielp  being  struck  with  the  slightness  of  her 
figure  as  it  slowly  vanished  in  the  gathering  gloom, 
and  she  watched  it  until  it  was  concealed  from  her 
view  by  a  sudden  turning  of  the  path.     On  looking 


MADELEINE.  287 


up  she  perceived  that  M.  Bigrion,  wlio  was  still 
standing  near  the  gate,  had  been  similarly  engaged. 
After  remaining  a  while  in  the  same  attitude,  he 
slowly  walked  back  towards  the  house. 

"  How  like  a  spirit  Madeleine  looked  to-night," 
observed  the  housekeeper  to  her  master  as  he  en- 
tered the  room  ;  "  and  yet  she  seemed  better." 

"  She  is  a  saint,"  gravely  said  the  priest,  "  and 
I  verily  believe  that  her  place  is  now  ready  in 
heaven." 

'No  more  was  said  on  the  subject. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Maeie  Michon  felt  great  anxiety  on  learning  that 
Madeleine  had  returned  to  the  valley,  for  she  had 
considered  it  as  an  understood  matter,  that  she 
should  sleep  at  the  hospital.  She  called  uj^on  her 
early  the  following  morning,  and  found  her  sitting 
by  the  door-step  and  reading.  She  seemed  well,  and 
in  good  spirits.  Her  friend  felt  unwilling  to  disturb 
this  happy  frame  of  mind ;  she  therefore  made  no 
remark  on  her  imprudence  of  the  preceding  evening, 
but  merely  asked  her  when  she  would  settle  at  the 
hospital. 

"When  Lise  comes  back,"  answered  Madeleine. 

"  And  when  is  she  to  return  ?" 

"  After  to-morrow." 

Madeleine  continued  to  exhibit  the  same  quiet 
cheerfulness  during  the  whole  of  the  day,  and  Marie, 
who  had  business  at  the  hospital,  left  her  somewhat 


288  MADELEINE. 

earlier  than  usual.  She  had  not  been  long  gone 
when  M.  Dubois  made  his  apjiearance.  It  showed 
the  winning  power  of  Madeleine's  nature,  that  it  had 
warmed  this  selfish  and  narrow-minded  man  into 
something  like  a  genial  glow  whenever  she  was 
concerned.  This  feeling  displayed  itself  especially 
during  her  illness,  when  the  mayor  frequently 
called  upon  her,  to  bring  her  large  nosegays  of  choice 
flowers  from  his  own  garden,  as  well  as  every  little 
delicacy  within  his  reach,  and  which  he  thought 
likely  to  tempt  her  palate  in  her  languishing  state. 
Madeleine  was  the  more  grateful  for  those  attentions 
that  she  perfectly  understood  the  character  of  the 
individual  from  whom  they  proceeded  ;  their  inter- 
course was  therefore  marked  by  mutual  cordiality 
and  good-will. 

Like  most  ignorant  persons,  M.  Dubois  was  con- 
vinced that,  as  long  as  a  patient  can  eat  and  drink, 
the  complaint  is  not  fatal.  His  first  questions,  there- 
fore, whenever  he  saw  Madeleine,  related  to  her  ap- 
petite ;  and,  as  he  generally  received  sufiiciently  sat- 
isfactory replies,  he  concluded,  that,  though  certainly 
very  M'eak  and  languishing,  she  was  not  so  ill  as  the 
doctor  and  most  people  thought.  On  this  evening  he 
found  her  looking  better  than  usual.  She  was  sittino; 
on  a  chair  near  the  door  of  her  cottage,  with  her  gray 
cloak  wrapped  around  her  person  to  protect  her  from 
the  cool  evening  breeze.  She  did  not  seem  to  notice 
his  approach,  for  her  glance  was  fixed  on  the  horizon, 
where  the  sun  was  setting  with  unusual  sj^lendor. 
The  whole  scene,  with  the  lonely  cottage  and  the 
quiet  churchyard  embosomed  in  the  surrounding 
hills,  and  touched  by  the  mellow  light  of  departing 


MADELEINE.  289 


day,  was  one  of  that  deep  and  tranquil  loveliness  so 
seldom  found.  But  its  beauty  was  lost  on  M.  Du- 
bois's  unpoetic  eye.  He  only  noticed  Madeleine's 
thoughtful  figure,  and  the  glow  which  the  sunset 
radiance  that  lingered  around  her  imparted  to  her 
pale  and  wasted  countenance. 

"  Well,  Madeleine,"  said  he,  in  a  rough  tone,  for 
he  was  of  opinion  that  invalids  generally  require  to 
be  roused  up  a  little,  "  how  do  you  feel  this  even- 
ing?" 

Madeleine  turned  round  quietly — nothing  seemed 
to  startle  her  now — and  answered,  that  she  felt 
pretty  well. 

"How  is  yom*  appetite?"  continued  the  mayor. 

"  I  ate  some  of  the  chicken  which  you  sent  me  to- 
day." 

"  Yery  well.  I  have  brought  something  else  in 
this  basket,  and  these  flowers  too.  Where  shall  I  put 
them  ?" 

"  In  the  room,  if  you  please,  sir,"  answered  Made- 
leine, thanking  him  for  his  kindness  with  a  smile. 
"  I  should  do  it  myself,  but  I  feel  so  comfortable  here 
that  I  do  not  like  to  go  in  yet." 

"Indeed  you  must  not  stir.  So,"  continued  M. 
Dubois,  when  he  had  placed  the  basket  and  the 
flowers  on  a  table  in  the  first  room  of  tlie  cottage,  and 
returned  near  Madeleine,  "  so  you  feel  comfortable, 
do  you  ?" 

"  Indeed  I  do,  sir." 

"  Madeleine,  I  will  tell  you  what !"  knowingly  ob- 
served the  mayor,  "  you  are  getting  better." 

Madeleine  smiled,  but  made  no  reply. 

"  Why,  I  was  given  up  twice  by  the  doctors,  and 

13 


290  MADELEINE. 


yet  I  am  alive  and  well,  you  see.  You  feel  comfort- 
able, that  is  one  good  sign.  But  what  kind  of  a  com- 
fort is  it?" 

"  It  is  more  than  comfort,  it  is  happiness,"  said 
Madeleine,  in  a  low  tone,  as  her  glance  still  dwelt  on 
the  gorgeous  hues  of  the  western  sky. 

"  Happiness  !"  echoed  M.  Dubois. 

"  Yes,  deej)  and  solemn  happiness — happiness 
which  no  words  can  tell,"  she  fervently  replied. 

The  mayor  was  satisfied,  and  did  not  seek  to  lead 
Madeleine  into  further  conversation,  as  he  knew  that 
talking  was  injurious  to  her.  He  merely  inquired 
when  she  expected  Lise  home,  and  whether  she 
meant  to  return  to  the  hospital. 

"  Lise  is  to  come  home  after  to-morrow,"  answer- 
ed Madeleine,  "  and  I  shall  go  to  the  hospital  very 
soon." 

After  a  few  insignificant  remarks,  M.  Dubois  left 
her,  recommending  her  not  to  stay  too  long  exposed 
to  the  night  air,  which  advice  Madeleine  promised  to 
follow. 

As  the  mayor  turned  round  the  path  leading  to  the 
village,  he  paused  to  look  once  more  at  Madeleine. 
The  glow  of  the  setting  sun  no  longer  lingered  like 
a  halo  around  her,  and  the  cool  gray  hues  of  evening 
now  shrouded  the  whole  landscape ;  but  she  still  sat 
in  the  same  thoughtful  attitude,  motionless  as  a 
sculptured  figure,  with  her  glance  fixed  on  the  dim 
horizon,  as  though  seeking,  far  beyond  it,  the  un- 
known regions  revealed  to  the  spiritual  eye  alone. 

Marie  Michon  was  very  much  annoyed  the  next 
mornins:  to  i-eceive  a  messa2;e  from  the  relative  with 
whom  Lise  was  staying,  and  by  which  she  requested 


MADELEINE.  291 


to  keep  her  niece  a  few  days  longer.  On  lier  way  to 
Madeleine's  cottage  Marie  reflected  on  the  best  man- 
ner of  breaking  this  intelligence  to  her,  for  she  had 
noticed  that  her  friend  looked  forward  to  the  day  of 
Lise's  return  with  mingled  anxiety  and  expectation. 
She  felt  the  more  vexed  by  this  because,  one  of  her 
patients  being  then  dangerously  ill,  she  should  be 
obliged  to  return  to  the  hospital  in  the  course  of  the 
day.  She  resolved  to  do  her  utmost  in  order  to  in- 
duce Madeleine  to  accompany  her,  and  she  found 
so  many  plausible  arguments  in  favor  of  this  ar- 
rangement that  she  had  little  doubt  of  its  success.  It 
was  still  early  when  she  reached  the  cottage,  and 
Madeleine  was  not  up.  Marie  raised  the  latch  softly 
and  entered  the  first  room  on  tiptoe,  for  Madeleine's 
slumbers  had  lately  been  light  and  troubled,  and  she 
feared  to  waken  her.  She  listened  for  a  few  minutes 
at  the  door  of  her  room,  but  Madeleine's  sleep  was, 
she  knew,  as  peaceful  as  that  of  a  child,  and  she 
could  hear  no  sound.  "  She  sleeps  ;  I  must  not  dis- 
turb her,"  was  Marie's  inward  ejaculation,  as  she  sat 
down  on  a  wooden  stool  to  rest  after  her  walk,  as  well 
as  to  reflect  how  she  was  to  break  the  intellis-ence  she 
had  received  concerning  Lise  to  her  friend,  when  she 
should  awake. 

But  it  seemed  as  if  Madeleine  would  never  wake, 
for  though  Marie  began  preparing  the  brealdiist,  and 
necessarily  made  some  noise,  no  sound  proceeded 
from  the  inner  room.  She  at  leno;th  resolved  to  enter 
it  and  awaken  her  friend  ;  she  opened  the  dooi,  and 
saw  with  surprise  that  Madeleine  was  lying  already 
dressed  on  the  bed,  which  looked  as  though  it  had 
not  been  undone.     Had  she  spent  the  night  also  iu 


292  MADELEINE. 


vigil  and  prayer  ?     The  mere  idea  made  Marie  an 

gry. 

"Are  you  awake,  Madeleine  V-  she  asked,  in  a  low 
tone.  She  received  no  reply.  The  shutters  w^ere 
closed.  Marie's  first  act  was  to  go  to  the  window 
and  open  them  ;  a  stream  of  rich  sunlight  fell  on  the 
bed,  and  on  the  reclining  form  of  the  sleeping  Made- 
leine. She  was  dressed  as  on  the  preceding  evening, 
wdth  her  gray  cloak  partly  wrapped  around  her.  Her 
feet  were  crossed,  her  hands  lay  meekly,  folded  on 
her  breast,  as  if  her  last  thought  ere  she  fell  asleep 
had  been  one  of  prayer ;  her  head  slightly  reclined 
on  her  right  shoulder,  her  eyes  were  closed  as  though 
in  a  pure  and  holy  slumber,  and  a  serene  smile  lin- 
gered on  her  lips. 

"How  softly  she  must  be  breathing!"  thought 
Marie.  She  drew^  near  the  bed  on  tiptoe,  but  still 
she  heard  nothing.  How  strange!  She  bent  over 
the  form  of  her  friend,  hushing  her  own  breath  to 
listen  ;  yet  all  w^as  silent.  She  pressed  the  slumber- 
er's  cheek  wdth  her  own,  but  started  back  pale  and 
trembling :  that  cheek  was  as  cold  as  marble. 

"Madeleine!"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  low,  husky 
voice,  "speak  to  me;  I  am  Marie:  speak  to  me, 
Madeleine  !"  But  though  the  same  smile  was  on  the 
pale  lips  no  voice  answered  her. 

"  She  is  asleep,  fast  asleep !"  said  Marie,  taking  up 
one  of  her  hands  betw^een  her  own.  The  hand  was 
colder  than  the  cold  cheek,  and,  when  she  let  it  go, 
it  fell  back  listlessly.  With  desperate  calmness  she 
laid  her  hand  upon  Madeleine's  heart ;  there  also  all 
was  still.  Then  Marie  knew  that  every  thing  was  over, 
and,  clasping  passionately  the  frail  form  which  bad 


MADELEINE.  293 


lately  been  tenanted  by  a  spirit  so  noble  and  so  pure, 
she  moaned  and  wept  aloud  in  the  bitterness  of  her 
anguish. 

How  long  she  remained  thus  Marie  neither  knew 
nor  heeded,  but  her  absence  caused  some  alarm  at 
the  hospital,  where  she  had  promised  to  return  at  an 
early  hour.  Tlie  general  impression  was  that  Made- 
leine was  worse,  and  towards  noon  several  persons, 
with  the  parish  priest  at  their  head,  determined  to 
proceed  to  the  valley.  When  they  reached  the  cot- 
tage, the  broken  sounds  of  grief  and  wailing  which 
proceeded  from  it  partly  revealed  the  truth  to  them. 
On  entering  the  inner  room,  they  found  Marie  kneel- 
ing by  the  bedside  of  her  friend,  one  of  whose  hands 
lay  clasped  within  her  own.  Her  eyes  never  moved 
once  from  the  countenance  of  Madeleine,  and  seemed 
to  behold  nothing  else.  She  gave  no  reply  to  the 
questions  addressed  to  her,  but  continued  to  rock  her- 
self to  and  fro,  with  a  low,  plaintive  moaning,  which 
told  of  a  grief  too  deep  for  utterance. 

M.  Bignon  was  the  first  to  see  how  matters  stood, 
and,  turning  towards  those  who  had  accompanied  him 
thither,  he  said,  in  a  broken  tone,  "  My  friends,  our 
Madeleine  is  gone  away." 

The  words  were  but  too  well  understood,  as  the 
loud  exclamations  of  grief  which  immediately  filled 
the  room  testified.  The  tidings  soon  reached  the  vil- 
lage, and,  though  few  felt  surprise — for  the  declining 
state  of  Madeleine's  health  had  lonj?  been  known — 
every  one  repeated,  in  a  tone  of  deep  sorrow,  "  Our 
Madeleine  is  gone  away."  It  was  strange,  yet  touch 
•ng,  that  none  spoke  of  her  as  being  dead,  but  rather 
as  they  might  have  done  of  a  stranger  from  somo 


294:  MADELEINE. 


distant  country,  who  had  dwelt  among  them  for  a  few 
brief  years,  shedding  blessings  with  her  gentle  pres- 
ence, but  who,  when  her  task  of  love  was  done,  had 
returned  once  more  to  her  own  home. 

Though  this  feeling  gave  a  peculiar  nature  to  the 
sorrow  of  the  inhabitants  of  Mont-Saint-Jean,  it  could 
neither  banish  it,  nor  the  wish  which  all  felt  of  gaz- 
ing once  more  upon  Madeleine.  "  We  must  see  her 
again !"  was  the  general  exclamation,  and  for  two 
days  the  cottage  was  thronged  by  sad  and  reverent 
visitors.  The  body,  near  which  Marie  still  sat,  watch- 
ing it  with  unwearied  love,  had  been  left  lying  on  the 
bed  exactly  as  she  had  found  it,  with  the  gray  cloak 
wrapped  around  it,  the  feet  crossed,  and  the  hands 
meekly  folded.  The  pallid  countenance  still  wore 
that  smile,  which  had  not  deserted  it  even  in  death. 
The  whole  attitude  was  so  fraught  with  modest  grace 
and  purity,  the  features  looked  so  calm  and  serene  in 
their  eternal  slumber,  that  many  scrupled  not  to  aver 
that  Madeleine  had  been  ministered  unto  by  angels 
in  her  last  hour,  like  the  saints  of  the  old  legends. 
Some  even  declared,  with  the  poetical  fancies  of 
their  imaginative  race,  that  several  travellers,  who 
passed  by  the  churchyard  on  the  night  during  which 
her  pure  spirit  had  fled,  had  heard  strains  of  ravish- 
ing and  unearthly  melody  floating  from  her  abode. 

It  was  in  vain  for  M.  Bignon  to  protest,  in  the 
name  of  Madeleine  herself,  against  this  belief;  it  was 
too  well  suited  to  the  character  of  the  people  not  to 
be  universally  adopted,  and  it  soon  became  one  of  the 
most  popular  and  cherished  traditions  of  that  part  of 
Auvergne. 

The  mystery  which  attended  Madeleine's  last  hours 


MADELEINE.  295 

was  never  cleared  up.  M.  Detrimont  declared  that 
death  had  taken  place  without  a  struggle,  and  proba- 
bly during  sleep.  The  state  of  the  bed,  the  fact  of 
her  being  dressed,  and  the  withered  flowers  w^hich 
were  found  wdiere  M.  Dubois  had  placed  them,  all 
tended  to  confirm  the  general  surmise,  that,  shortly 
after  the  mayor  had  left  her,  Madeleine  had  entered 
her  cottage,  and,  feeling  drowsy,  had  lain  down  on 
her  bed  to  take  a  short  slumber,  from  which  she  had 
never  awakened. 

Amongst  those  wdio  came  to  see  Madeleine  ere  her 
remains  were  consigned  to  their  mother  earth,  was 
M.  Dubois.  lie  had  heard  of  her  death  with  a  kind 
of  incredulous  stupor,  and  when  he  saw  her  looking 
so  like  what  she  had  been,  and  yet  felt  that  he  stood 
in  the  presence  of  death,  he  turned  his  head  away  and 
wept  like  a  child. 

The  funeral  took  place  on  the  third  day.  Tlie 
body  was  placed  in  a  coffin  covered  with  a  white 
pall,  and  a  white  bridal  wreath  at  the  head,  to  show 
that  the  tenant  had  lived  in  the  maiden  state ;  it  was 
borne  to  the  village  church  by  eight  young  girls, 
likewise  clad  in  white ;  a  ninth  walked  behind,  carry- 
ing the  banner  of  a  religious  fraternity  to  which  Mad- 
eleine had  belonged,  according  to  the  general  custom 
of  the  country.  The  little  church  was  filled  to  over- 
flowing, for  the  news  of  the  death  of  the  "  gray  cloak 
of  the  hills"  had  spread  far  beyond  Mont-Saint-Jean, 
and  collected  a  large  concourse  of  individuals.  M. 
Bignon  preached  no  funeral  sermon;  he  ascended 
the  pulpit,  however,  with  the  intention  of  making  a 
brief  discourse,  but  when  he  had  uttered  his  text, 
■'  This  loonian  loas  full  of  good  worJcs  and  alma- 


296  MADELEINE. 


deeds^  luliich  slie  did''''  (Acts,  ix.  36),  he  could  pro- 
ceed no  furtlier,  and  sank  back  on  the  seat,  a  prey 
to  uncontrollable  emotion.  I^or  was  any  sermon 
needed,  for  the  tears  of  those  whom  Madeleine  had 
relieved  during  her  lifetime  showed  that  the  text  had 
been  well  understood. 

When  the  service  was  over  the  vouno-  ^rls  once 
more  resumed  their  burden,  and  earned  the  coffin 
along  the  path  leading  to  the  churchyard,  preceded 
b}^  M.  Bignon  and  several  clergymen  of  the  neigh- 
boring parishes,  attired  in  their  sacerdotal  garments 
and  chanting  in  a  low  and  solemn  tone  according  to 
the  ritual  of  the  Catholic  Church.  Behind  the  girl 
who  carried  the  banner  came  Marie  Michon,  leading 
Lise  by  the  hand  ;  the  child  wept  bitterly,  but,  though 
Marie's  whole  frame  quivered  in  the  intensity  of  her 
emotion,  she  did  not  shed  a  tear :  she  was  followed 
by  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  hospital  whom  infirmity 
or  ill-health  did  not  keep  at  home.  M.  Dubois,  with 
his  tri-color  scarf,  came  next,  but  his  woe-begone 
countenance  contrasted  so  much  with  his  general  ap- 
pearance on  such  occasions,  that  nothing  could  have 
revealed  more  truly  the  depth  and  the  sincerity  of  his 
grief.  Doctor  Detrimont  walked  near  him,  looking 
grave  and  sad  ;  but  he  had  foreseen  Madeleine's  death 
too  long  to  be  so  painfully  affected  as  those  on  whom 
the  blow  had  fallen  more  unexpectedly.  Behind  them 
followed  slowly  and  silently  a  large  crowd  of  mourn- 
ers, consisting  of  almost  all  the  inhabitants  of  Mont- 
Saint-Jean,  with  many  persons  from  the  neighboring 
villages.  The  men  were  all  bare-headed,  and  carried 
their  cloth  caps  in  their  hands. 

It  was  about  two  hours  before  the  procession,  which 


MADELEINE.  297 


moved  at  a  slow  pace,  reached  the  churchyard.  On 
tlie  preceding  day  Marie,  whose  grief  and  devoted 
aiFection  gave  her  a  sort  of  claim  on  her  deceased 
friend,  had  been  asked  where  she  would  have  her 
laid,  and  she  had  sadly  answered,  "  Let  it  be  T)y  tne 
Btone  cross  where  she  loved  to  sit." 

But  as  it  was  known  that  Madeleine  had  often  ex- 
pressed a  wish  of  being  buried  near  her  father,  the 
old  man's  grave  was  opened,  and  the  coffin  containing 
his  remains  placed  beforehand  near  the  spot  destined 
to  receive  his  daughter.  As  the  churchyard  could 
not  contain  all  the  individuals  present,  a  large  num- 
ber stationed  themselves  in  Madeleine's  garden, 
whence  they  could  behold  all  that  passed.  ISTotwith- 
Btanding  the  large  numbers  who  were  thus  assembled 
together,  the  greatest  order  prevailed,  and  even  the  ap- 
pearance of  confusion  was  carefully  avoided.  Though 
sincere  sorrow  was  felt  by  every  one,  there  were  at 
first  no  outbursts  of  violent  grief.  Madeleine  had 
been  universally  beloved  ;  but  it  was  more  with  the 
love  and  reverence  felt  for  some  holy  beino;  than  with 
the  affection  lavished  on  frail  and  earthly  creatures. 
But  when  the  coffin  had  been  lowered  into  the  grave, 
and  the  first  shovelful  of  earth  fell  uj)on  it  with  a  hol- 
low sound,  Marie  sank  down  on  her  knees  with  a 
strong  convulsive  sob.  This  seemed  the  signal  foi 
the  display  of  whatever  signs  of  emotion  had  been 
suppressed  till  then.  For  a  few  minutes  the  church- 
yard was  filled  with  the  voice  of  lamentation,  and  the 
proceedings  were  interrupted.  By  a  strong  effort  M. 
Bignon  at  length  regained  his  composure,  and  resumed 
his  painful  duties.  His  example  served  to  check 
whatever  ebullitions  of  grief  might  otherwise  have 

13* 


298  MADELEINE, 


been  displayed,  and  the  ceremony  was  concluded  in 
the  sorrowful  silence  of  the  surrounding  crowd. 
When  every  thing  was  over,  the  mourners  slowly  de- 
parted, and  the  little  churchyard  was  left  once  more 
to  its  silence  and  solitude. 

A  few  days  aft;er  the  funeral.  Gloomy  Pierre  came 
to  Mont-Saint-Jean,  in  order  to  see  Madeleine,  as  was 
his  custom  whenever  he  visited  the  neighborhood. 
He  heard  of  her  death  with  more  sorrow  than  surprise. 

"Ay,"  he  sadly  exclaimed,  "  any  one  who  marked 
her  look  and  smile  could  have  known  tliat  she  was 
not  to  be  long  of  this  world  !" 

He  paid  a  brief  visit  to  her  grave,  and  never  failed 
to  go  to  the  churchyard  for  that  purpose,  when  his 
labor  called  him  within  a  few  leagues  of  the  place. 

About  a  month  after  the  death  of  Madeleine,  the 
people  of  Mont-Saint-Jean  began  to.  think  that  they 
would  not  be  showing  a  proper  respect  for  her  mem- 
ory unless  they  erected  a  monument  over  her  grave. 
But  this  plan,  though  advocated  by  M.  Dubois,  was 
strenuously  opposed  by  M.  Bignon.  "  Madeleine's 
noblest  monument,"  he  said,  "  was  the  hospital  she 
had  founded;  and  he  moreover  felt  convinced  that 
nothing  would  have  given  her  more  offence  than  such 
a  project,  could  she  have  known  of  it." 

This  latter  argument  prevailed,  and  a  simple  mar- 
ble slab  was  placed  at  the  head  of  her  grave.  But  M. 
Dubois  now  felt  anxious  to  have  all  Madeleine's  vir- 
tues recorded  by  a  suitable  epitaph.  This  was  again 
opposed  by  M.  Bignon. 

"  What  could  an  epitaph  tell  us  ?"  he  observed : 
"  that  Madeleine  was  good,  pious,  and  devoted  to  the 
poor  ?     But  if  we  cause  this  to  be  inscribed  on  her 


MADELEINE.  299 

grave,  will  it  not  be  thought  wc  required  to  be  told 
the  virtues  she  possessed  ?    Trust  me,  let 

HXahcicinc 

be  engraved  on  the  tombstone  which  marks  the  spot 
where  she  lies,  and  we  shall  all  know  what  that 
means." 

This  advice  was  followed  literally,  and  the  simple 
name  she  had  borne  during  her  mortal  life  was  the 
peasant  girl's  sole  epitaph. 

Years  have  passed  away  since  Madeleine  lived  and 
died  amongst  the  hills  of  Auvergne,  and,  though  un- 
known beyond  them,  there  she  has  not  been  forgot- 
ten. "The  gray  cloak  of  the  hills,"  is  still  remem- 
bered in  many  of  the  mountain  legends.  Her  quiet 
figure,  low,  gentle  voice,  and  peculiarities  of  attire 
have  been  faithfully  preserved  by  tradition.  The  spot 
where  she  lived  is  still  shown,  though  the  cottage  has 
fallen  into  ruins ;  but  the  garden  belonging  to  it,  and 
vhich  is  now  possessed  by  one  of  the  heirs  of  M. 
Dubois,  is  kept  in  proper  order,  for  the  sake  of  the 
fruit  and  vegetables  it  produces.  No  weeds  have 
been  allowed  to  grow  near  her  grave,  and,  though 
the  marble  slab  is  partly  broken,  her  name  is  still 
legible  upon  it,  the  envious  moss,  which  has  often 
attempted  to  efface  the  letters,  being  always  carefully 
removed  by  the  village  sexton. 

With  the  events  which  followed  the  death  of  Made- 
leine this  history  has  nothing  to  do,  nor  were  they  in 
any  manner  remarkable.  In  the  course  of  a  few 
yeai-s  good  M.  Bignon,  who  to  his  last  hour  retained 
an  affectionate  and  reverential  remembrance  of  Mad- 
eleme,  whom  he  always  associated  with  the  memory 
of  M.  Morel,  slept  in  the  little  churchyard  with  his 


300  MADELEINE. 


predecessors,  the  humble  pastors  of  Mont-Saint- Jean. 
M.  Dubois  died  about  the  same  time;  but  Marie 
Michon  survived  her  friend  no  less  than  twenty-five 
years.  According  to  her  dying  request,  she  was  laid 
in  deatli  at  the  feet  of  her  whom  she  had  loved  through 
life,  with  an  affection  so  devoted  and  so  pure. 

As  Lise  died  young,  none  of  those  w^hom  Made- 
leine loved  are  now  living.  But  the  good  which  we 
do  passes  not  away  with  us,  and  the  hospital  of  Mont- 
Saint-Jean  still  exists  in  a  thriving  condition^  to  attest 
the  heroic  devotedness  of  a  simple  peasant  girl  in  the 
cause  of  the  poor.  Though  the  donations  of  wealthy 
and  benevolent  individuals  have  greatly  improved 
this  asylum  of  the  sick  and  the  aged  in  size  and 
accommodation,  those  who  dwell  w^ithin  its  walls  have 
not  forgotten  her  to  whom  they  owe  the  blessings  they 
enjoy ;  and,  according  to  her  request,  the  name  ol 
Madeleine  is  still  remembered  in  their  daily  orisons. 
Marie  Michon  always  declared  she  could  not  believe 
her  friend's  pure  spirit  needed  those  prayers,  even 
whilst  she  complied  with  her  wish ;  and  the  custom 
has  been  continued  since  her  time  by  the  inmates  ol 
the  hospital,  simply  as  a  mode  of  commemorating 
their  benefactress. 

The  number  of  those  w^ho  knew  Madeleine  person- 
ally decreases  every  year,  but  her  memory  is  still 
preserved  with  deep  reverence  and  affection  in  her 
native  place  ;  and  those  who  were  children  when  she 
died,  love  to  speak  of  the  gentle  girl,  once  the  Provi- 
dence of  their  wild  hills,  and  who  founded  the  hospital 
of  Mont-Saint- Jean. 

THE   END. 


LEATHER-STOCKING  NOVELS. 


"The  enduring  monuments  of  Fenimore  Cooper  are  his  works.      While 

THE  love  of  country  CONTINUES  TO  PREVAIL,  HIS  MEMORY  WILL  EXIST  IN  T»IB 
hearts  of  THE  PEOPLE.  So  TRULY  PATRIOTIC  AND  AMERICAN  THROUGHOUT,  THEi 
SHOULD   FIND   A   PLACE    IN   EVERY  AMERICAN'S    LIBRARY." — Daniel  l^edstcr. 


SPLENDIDLY-ILLUSTRATED  POPULAR  EDITION 

OP 

FENIMORE    COOPER'S 

WOKLD-F^VMOUS 

LEATHER-STOCKING  ROMANCES. 


D.  Appleton  &  Co.  announce  that  they  have  commenced  the  publica- 
tion of  J.  Fenimore  Cooper's  Novels,  in  a  form  designed  for  general 
popular  circulation.  The  series  begins  with  the  famous  "  Leather-Stock- 
iag  Tales,"  five  in  number,  and  will  be  published  in  the  following  order, 
at  intervals  of  about  a  month  : 

I.  The  Last  of  the  Mohicans. 
IL  The  Deerslayer.  IV.  The  Pioneers. 

in.  The  Pathfinder.  V.  The  Prairie. 

This  edition  of  the  "  Leather-Stocking  Tales ''  will  be  printed  in  hand- 
some octavo  Tolumes,  from  new  stereotype  plates,  each  volume  superbly 
and  fully  illustrated  with  entirely  new  designs  by  the  distinguished  artist, 
F.  0.  C.  Darley,  and  bound  in  an  attractive  paper  cover.  Price,  15  cents 
per  volume. 

Heretofore  there  has  been  no  edition  of  the  acknowledged  head  of 
American  romancists  suitable  for  general  popular  circulation,  and  hence 
the  new  issue  of  these  famous  novels  will  be  welcomed  by  the  generation 
of  readers  that  have  sprung  up  since  Cooper  departed  from  us.  As  time 
progresses,  the  character,  genius,  and  value  of  the  Cooper  Romances  be- 
come more  widely  recognized ;  he  is  now  accepted  as  the  great  classic  of 
our  American  literature,  and  his  books  as  the  prose  epics  of  our  early 
history. 

D.  APPLETON  (Si  CO.,  Publishers,  New  York. 


"GOOD-BYE,  SWEETHEART!' 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO. 

Have  recently  published., 

GOOD-BYE,  SWEETHEART! 

AUTHOR  OF  "  RED  AS  A  ROSE  IS  SHE,"  "  COMETH  UP  AS  A  FLOWER,"  ETC^ 

Otie  Vol.,  Svo,    Paper  covers Price,  $0.75. 

"  :i2mo.     Cloth "  1.50. 


"  Good-bye,  Sweetheart ! "  is  certainly  one  of  the  brightest  and  most 
entertaining  novels  that  has  appeared  for  many  years.  The  heroine  of  the 
Story,  Lenore,  is  really  an  original  character,  drawn  only  as  a  woman 
could  draw  her,  who  had  looked  deeply  into  the  mysterious  recesses  of 
the  feminine  heart.  She  is  a  creation  totally  beyond  the  scope  of  a  man's 
pen,  unless  it  were  the  pen  of  Shakespeare.  Her  beauty,  her  wilfulness, 
her  caprice,  her  love,  and  her  sorrow,  are  depicted  with  marvellous  skill, 
and  invested  with  an  interest  of  which  the  reader  never  becomes  weary. 
Miss  Brousrhton,  in  this  work,  has  made  an  immense  advance  on  her  other 
stories,  clever  as  those  are.  Her  sketches  of  scenery  and  of  interiors, 
though  brief,  are  eminently  graphic,  and  the  dialogue  is  always  sparkling 
and  witty.  The  incidents,  though  sometimes  starthng  and  unexpected, 
are  very  natural,  and  the  characters  and  story,  from  the  beginning  to  the 
end,  strongly  enchain  the  attention  of  the  reader.  The  work  has  been 
warmly  commended  by  the  press  during  its  publication,  as  a  serial,  in 
Appletons'  Journal,  and,  in  its  book-form,  bids  fair  to  be  decidedly  thk 
novel  of  the  season. 


7).  A .  ih  Co.  have  now  ready,  New  Editions  of 

COMETH  UP  AS  A  FLOWER ...Price,  60  cents. 

NOT  WISELY,  BUT  TOO  WELL Price,  60  cents. 

RED  AS  A  ROSE  IS  SHE Price,  60  cents. 

BY   THE  SAME  AUTHOR. 


OF 

The  Waverley  Novels, 

From  new  Stereotype  Plates,  uniform  with  the  New  Edition  of 

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8.  Ecnllworth. 

16.  QuentlnDurnrard. 

4.  Gu7  Manncrliig. 

17.  St.  Bonan's  Well. 

5.  Antlanarr. 

18.  Bcdeauntlet. 

6.  Rob  Itoy. 

19.  The  Betrothed,  and  UlKhlani 

7.  Old  MortaUty. 

Widow. 

8.  The  Black  Dwarf, 

and  A  Legend 

20.  The  Tnlisnian. 

of  Montrose. 

21.  Woodstock. 

9.  Bride  of  Lammermoor. 

88.  Fair  Maid  of  Perth. 

10.  Heart  of  Mld-l>othlan. 

88.  Anne  of  Gclersteln. 

tl.  The  Monastcrr. 

84.  Count  Bobert  of  Paris. 

18.  The  Abbot. 

85.  The  Surgcoa's  Danshter. 

18.  The  Pirate. 

On  receipt  of  Six  Dollars,  we  will  send  the  entire  set  of  Waverley  Novels, 
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th:e:  wavehley  istovels, 

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Our  aiutual  Friend.... 840  " 

Christmas  gtorles 168  " 

Tale  of  Two  Cities.... 144  " 
Ilard  Times,  and  Ad- 
ditional Christmas 

Stories 80»  " 

Nicholas  ..Mckleby SS8  " 


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15 

4( 

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85 

85 

U 

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<( 

DaTld  Copperfleld 851  " 

85 

85 

It 

Bamaby  Budee. 86?  " 

80 

85 

41 

Old  Cnrlosltf  Shop 881  " 

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SO 

If 

Great  Expectations.... 188  " 

85 

Sketches 194  " 

86 

Unconunerclal      TraT« 

85 

" 

eUer,  Plctares  of 

85 

U 

Italy,  etc 800" 

85 

LIBRARY    EDITION 

or 

CHAELES   DIOKEI^S^S   WOEKa 

Complete  in  Six  Volumes, 

with.    Tliirty-t-wo    Illustrations. 
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THt   GLOBE   EDITION   OF   THE   POETS. 

Printed  on  Tinted  Paper,  ami  bound  in  a  uniform  Green 
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Price,  $1,^5  per  volmne, 
A.Txy    "Volianae      sold,      separately. 

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rOPE, 

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COWPER, 

HERBERT, 

MILTON, 

CHAUCER, 

MRS.  HEMANS 

(2  vols.) 

THE  POPULAR  EDITION  OF  THE 

STAN"DARD     POETS, 

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Volumes   already  published: 

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n.  Mlltori's   r»oetical  "Works, 

rn.  DBviriis's  I'oetical    "Works. 

IV.  Dante's  I*oems. 

V.  Tasso's  Jeioisalem.    Deliver*.'!. 

VI.  CamplDell's    JPoetical   "Works. 

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CAPL  MlUmPS  POPULAR  NOVELS, 

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Bandsomelj  priuted,  from  large,  clear  type,  on  good  paper,  and  of 
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THE  WHOLE  CONSISTS  OF 

1.    Midshipman  Easy. 

n.    Peter  Simple. 
m.    Jacob  Faithful. 
IV.    Naval  Officer. 

V.    King's  Own. 

VI.    Japhet   in  Search  of  a    Father. 
VII.    Newton  Forster. 
V^III.    Pacha  of  Many  Tales. 
IX.    The  Poacher. 

X.    The  Phantom  Ship. 
XL    Snarleyow. 
XII.    Percival  Keene. 


rhe  entire  Set  vrill  be  sent,  post-free,  on  receipt  of  $6.50.    Any 
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D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  PubUshera. 


D.  Appleton  &  Coh  l\ibltccUi<mi. 


WORKS    OF    B^IOTION. 


Grace  Agnllar's  Works. 


THE  MOTHER'S  RECOMPENSE.     12mo.     Cloth. 

HOME  INELUENCE.     12mo.     Cloth. 

WOMEN  OF  ISRAEL.     12mo.     Qoth. 

VALE  OF  CEDARa     12mo.     Cloth. 

WOMAN'S  FRIENDSHIP.     12mo.     Cloth. 

THE  DATS  OF  BRUCE.     12mo.     2  vols.     Clotb. 

HOME  SCENES  AND  HEART  STUDIES.     12mo.  Cloth. 

"Grace  Agnllar's  works  possess  attractions  which  will  always 
pince  them  among  the  standard  writing  which  no  hbrarr  can  b« 
without.  'Mothers Recompense'  and  'Woman's Friendship'  shoultf 
be  read  by  both  young  and  old." 

A  Novel  lay  a  New  Author. 

KOUND  THE  BLOCK.     An  American  Novel. 

"Unlike  most  novels  that  now  appear,  it  has  no  'mission,  the 
author  being  neither  a  politician  nor  a  reformer,  but  a  story-teller, 
according  to  the  old  pattern :  and  a  capital  story  he  has  produced, 
written  in  the  happiest  style.'* 

Alice  B.  Haven's  Novels. 

THE  COOPERS ;  or,  GETTING  TINDER  WAY. 
LOSS  AND  GAIN;  or,  MARGARET'S  HOME. 

The  lamented  Cousin  Alice,  better  known  as  the  author  of  numer 
OQB  juvenile  works  of  a  popular  character,  only  wrote  two  works  of 
ttction,  which  evidence  that  she  could  hare  met  with  equal  success  in 
that  walk  of  hteraturc.  They  both  bear  the  impress  of  a  mind  whoK 
parity  of  heart  was  proverbial. 


D.  Appleton  &  Co.'^s  Fuhlications. 


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Miss  Macintosh's  "Works. 

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with  a  contented  mind  and  a  happy  heart.    It  should  be  read  onc« 


D.  Appleton  cd  Co.'s  JPubhcationa. 

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6  vols.     12mo.    Blue  Cloth 

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MR.  BROWN'S  LETTERS  TO  A  YOUNG  MAN  ABOUT  TOWN 

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THE  YELLOWPLUSH  PAPERS. 

THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  FITZBOODLE. 

THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS 

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A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 

JEAMES'S  DIARY:  A  LEGEND  OF  THE  RHINE. 

LUCK  OF  BARRY  LYNDON. 

Thackeray  the  novelist  is  no  more.  Hence  every  thing  from  hii 
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A  Novel  by  Mary  Cowden  Clarke. 

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wide  reputation." 


GRACE  AGUILAR'S  WORKS. 


HOME  INFLUENCE. 
MOTHER'S  RECOMPENSE. 
VALE  OE  CEDARS. 
WOMAN'S  FRIENDSHIP. 


DAYS  OF  BRUCE. 
//OMEN  OF  ISRAEL. 
HOME  SCENES  AND  HEART 
STUDIES. 


1  vol.,  12mo,  Illustrated,  price  $1,  wj7/t  a  Memoir  of  tlie  Autlwr, 

HOME  Si^FLUESMCE, 

A  TALE  FOR  MOTHERS  AND  DAUQHTEBS. 

By  GRACE  AGUTLAR. 


"  Grace  Agnilar  wrote  and  spoke  as  one  inspired ;  Bhe  condensed  and 
Bplritaalized,  and  all  her  thoughts  and  feelings  were  steeped  in  the  essence 
of  celestial  love  and  truth.  To  those  who  really  knew  Grace  Aguilar,  all 
enloginm  falls  short  of  her  deserts,  and  she  has  left  a  blank  in  her  particular 
walk  of  literature,  which  we  never  expect  to  see  filled  up." —Pilgrimages  to 
English  Shrinks,  by  Mrs.  Hall. 

"A  clever  and  interestina;  tale,  corresponding  well  to  it?  name,  illustrat- 
ing the  silent,  constant  influence  of  a  wise  and  affectionate  parent  over 
characters  the  most  diverse." — Christian  Lady's  Magazirte. 

"This  interesting  volume  unquestionably  contains  many  valuable  hintd 
on  domestic  education,  much  powerful  writing,  and  a  moral  of  vast  impor 
\.a.T\ca."—E7iglishivoma)i's  Magazine. 

"It  is  very  pleasant,  after  reading  a  book,  to  speak  of  it  in  terms  of  high 
commendation.  The  tale  before  us  is  an  admirable  one,  and  is  executed 
with  taste  and  ability.  The  language  is  beautiful  and  appropriate ;  the  anal- 
ysis of  character  is  skilful  and  varied.  The  work  ought  t«  be  in  the  hands 
of  all  who  are  interested  in  ttue  proper  training  of  the  youthful  mind." — Pal- 
ladium. 

"In  reviewing  this  work,  we  hardly  know  what  words  in  the  English 
language  are  strong  enough  to  express  the  admiration  we  have  felt  in  its 
perusal." — Buclcs  ChrotUde. 

"  The  object  and  end  of  the  writings  of  Grace  Aguilar  were  to  improve 
the  heart,  and  to  lead  her  readers  to  the  consideration  of  higher  motives  and 
objects  than  this  world  can  ever  afford." — Bell's  Weekly  Messenger. 

"' Home  Influence '  will  not  be  forgotten  by  any  who  have  perused  it."  — 
Critic. 

"A  well-known  and  valuable  tale." — Gentlemaii's  Magazine. 

"  A  work  which  possesses  an  extraordinary  amount  of  influence  to  elevate 
the  mind  and  educate  the  heart,  by  showing  that  rectitude  and  virtue  con- 
duce no  less  to  material  prosperity,  and  worldly  comfort  and  liappiuoss,  than 
to  the  satisfaction  of  the  conscience,  the  approval  of  the  good,  and  the  hope 
»nd  certainty  of  bliss  hereafter."— i^crto  County  Press. 


New  York :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO. 


GRACE  AGUILAKS    WORKS. 


THE  SEQUEL  TO  HOME  INFLUENCE. 


THE  MOTHER'S  RECOMPENSE. 

A   SEQUEL   TO 

"  Home  Iiifluence^  a  Tale  for  Mothers  and  Dauffhiers" 
By  GRACE  AGUZLAR. 

1  Vol.,  12mo.    Cloth.    $1,-  With  Illustrations. 


"Grace  Aguilar  belonged  to  the  school  of  which  Maria  EclMworth  was 
the  foundress.  The  design  of  the  book  is  carried  out  forcibly  and  constantly, 
'The  Home  Influence'  exercised  in  earlier  years  being  shown  in  its  active 
germination." — Atlas. 

"  The  writing  of  Grace  Ap^nilar  have  a  charm  inseparable  from  produc- 
tions in  which  feeling  is  combined  with  intellect;  they  go  directly  to  the 
heart.  '  Home  Influence,'  the  deservedly  popular  story  to  which  this  is  a 
sequel,  admirably  teaches  the  lesson  implied  in  its  name.  In  the  present 
tale  we  have  the  same  freshness,  earnestness,  and  zeal — the  same  spirit  of 
devotion,  and  love  of  virtue — the  same  enthusiasm  and  sincere  religion  which 
characterized  that  earlier  work.  We  behold  the  mother  now  blessed  in  the 
love  of  good  and  affectionate  offspring,  who,  parents  themselves,  are,  after 
her  example,  training  their  children  in  the  way  of  rectitude  and  piety,"— 
Morning  Chronicle. 

"  This  beautiful  story  was  completed  when  the  authoress  was  little  above 
the  age  of  nineteen,  yet  it  has  the  sober  sense  of  middle  age.  There  is  no 
age  nor  sex  that  will  not  profit  by  its  perusal,  and  it  will  afford  as  much 
pleasure  as  profit  to  the  reader."— Critic. 

"The  same  kindly  spirit,  the  same  warm  charity  and  fervor  of  devotion 
which  breathes  in  every  line  of  that  admirable  book,  'Home  Influence,'  will 
be  found  adorning  and  inspiring  '  The  Mother's  Recompense.' " — Morning 
Advertiser. 

"  The  good  which  she  (Grace  A^iilar)  has  effected  is  acknowledged  on 
all  hands,  and  it  cannot  be  doubted  out  that  the  appearance  of  this  volume 
will  increase  the  usefulness  of  one  who  may  yet  be  said  to  be  still  speaking 
to  the  heart  and  to  the  affections  of  human  nature." — JieU's  Messenger. 

"  It  will  be  found  an  interesting  supplement,  not  only  to  the  book  to 
which  it  specially  relates,  but  to  all  the  writer's  other  works."— G'eatortaw's 
Magazine. 

'"The  Mother's  Recompense'  forms  a  fitting  close  to  its  predecessor, 
'  Home  Influence.'  The  results  of  maternal  care  are  filUy  developed,  its  rich 
rewards  are  set  forth,  and  its  lesson  and  its  moral  are  powerfully  enforced." 
—Morning  Post. 

"  We  heartily  commend  this  volume ;  a  bettor  or  more  useful  present  to 
a  youthful  fiieud  or  a  young  wife  could  not  well  bo  selected."— //^r^s  Counfjf 
/*>  ess. 


New  York;  D.  APPLETON  &  CO. 


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